


For Angels to Fly

by Tacoapocalypse3847848



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich- freeform
Genre: AU, Angst, Caring Mickey Milkovich, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt Ian Gallagher, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Tattoo Artist Mickey Milkovich, basically all the milkoviches helping Ian heal after hes rescued, entire family is protective over Ian, mechanic colin milkovich, psychiatrist Iggy Milkovich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:54:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tacoapocalypse3847848/pseuds/Tacoapocalypse3847848
Summary: Read the first chapter... or don't I can't tell you how to live your life
Relationships: Colin Milkovich/Original Female Character(s), Ian Gallagher & Colin Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Iggy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Svetlana Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & The Milkoviches, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mandy Milkovich & Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 99
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

Title- from the song The A Team- by Ed Sheeran ([link here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAWcs5H-qgQ))

In essence, this story is set in 2021 (I don't include COVID in my AUs) and Mickey and Ian are in an established relationship already and are ages 21 (Ian) and 22 (Mickey).

The story opens with Mickey and Ian as semi-famous social media influencers after a video Mickey posted of Ian to his seven followers, (his family, Ian, and two spam accounts), accidentally goes viral.

It opens on a life-stream-type setting where Ian and Mickey are answering questions in live time and it has always been a mystery how they met. So Mickey says fuck it on this particular live, and they explain.

In essence, Terry went to jail when Mickey was 17 for attempted murder of someone in the drug world, and Mickey lives with Iggy, Colin's girlfriend Jess, Colin, and Mandy. All the siblings know about Mickey's sexuality and are supportive of it. Mickey goes to a club in Boystown one night and he sees this dancer thats cocky and arrogant and ginger, and naturally Mickey is infatuated by Ian so he follows him after his shift and accidentally sees how mistreated the nearly-sixteen-year-old Ian is. So he makes it his mission to rescue Ian, and he does and then Ian moves in with Mickey because he has no where else to go. Then the Milkovich siblings all fall in love (platonically, except Mickey of course), with Ian and its just loads of fluff and angst. Lots of hurt Ian and comforting Mickey. And the whole story is like Mickey and Ian telling their livestream fans the story of how they got together.

As for Ian, he joined the army a little earlier at fifteen due to some things we will dive into, then he worked at Boystown but Mickey didn't rescue him at the point that he did in canon, and things got worse for Ian. Sadly, in essence I am planning on having little interaction with the other Gallaghers because this story is mainly focused on the relationship between Ian and the Milkovich's, but I'll see where this takes me.

This will be relatively short between 30-60k words and I'm planning about 10 chapters.

The POV will probably be third person omniscient for "present day" and alternate between first-person for Ian and Mickey in the "past". 

AU so no Yev but maybe Svet will be Ian's friend, we'll see. 

Let me know what you guys think, I could probably do the first chapter in a week or two because I always like my first chapters to be detailed and usually do an outline for the entire story with it. Any suggestions on anything I'd be so happy to hear and take into account.


	2. The opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2- the opening  
> Chapter 3-the rescue  
> chapter 4- Meeting The Milkoviches  
> chapter 5- 16 f*cking candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAVY STUFF- DONT TAKE LIGHLY TW for SA, violence, underage, lack of consent ect
> 
> I wrote out a loose outline for about 7 chapters
> 
> I wrote this flashback from Mickey's direct POV, but I struggled with it. Would you guys prefer 3rd person omniscent or rotating first person between Mickey and Ian for the flashbacks

**Notes-**

**Ages when the flashback starts**

Mickey- [17; senior](https://www.google.com/search?q=mickey+season+4&sxsrf=ALeKk00zTZ4koOPsQ-p8e5t8oSAIAzuVYg:1614983959314&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjNqNmJnJrvAhW1MlkFHXuFBBAQ_AUoAnoECBYQBA&biw=768&bih=684#imgrc=G5CJfirQrkYXeM)

Ian- [15 about to turn 16](https://www.google.com/search?q=season+4+ian+gallagher&sxsrf=ALeKk01I3f3I3iyougUGvFnriJGQG9Pmxg:1614983500238&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwioo-WumprvAhW2GVkFHcObAkMQ_AUoAXoECAoQAw#imgrc=NOAWSjNCV7hHUM); dropped out freshman year

Mandy- 16; sophomore

Iggy- 21; taking psychology classes

Colin- 23; mechanic

**present ages**

Mickey- [22; influencer and tattoo artist](https://www.google.com/search?q=mickey+season+s+7&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjgnPuNnJrvAhWhdzABHSSMCPsQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=mickey+season+s+7&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoECAAQQzoCCAA6BggAEAgQHlCFjQRY5pUEYNSfBGgAcAB4AIABkwGIAfQDkgEDMC40mAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWfAAQE&sclient=img&ei=ILNCYOCMD6HvwbkPpJii2A8&bih=684&biw=768#imgrc=tjtNC9vqy5vqQM)

Ian- [21](https://www.google.com/search?q=season+6+ian+gallagher&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwj-tpuwmprvAhXmcTABHUlpAeEQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=season+6+ian+gallagher&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzICCAAyAggAOgYIABAHEB5Q74IZWKyGGWDOhxloAHAAeACAAZABiAGUApIBAzAuMpgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nwAEB&sclient=img&ei=T7FCYL7TDObjwbkPydKFiA4#imgrc=I0I04Wyk9riMvM); influencer and Starbucks barista

Mandy- 21; journalism major

Iggy- 26; adolescent psychiatrist

Colin- 28; mechanic

**Chapter 1:**

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“Yes I did get a haircut, thank you.” Ian smiles, blatantly dipping his head for inspection.

“Show off.” Mickey snickers, ruffling Ian’s hair before shoving him away lightly.

Green eyes squint as they view the laptop decorated with stickers from companies that have asked the pair to sponsor them, in front of them. Ian and Mickey Milkovich are squeezed together on one black computer chair, more or less on each other’s laps as their legs tangled together under the desk.

Ian wears a green-long sleeve thermal that Mickey says makes his eyes “pop”. He always does his hair before going on camera and puts in the effort to look “presentable”.

Meanwhile, Mickey rolls outs of bed with a minute to spare, brushes his teeth, and throws on an oversized plain black sweatshirt from Ian’s pile.

"Our favorite colors." Ian reads.

"Mine is black." Mickey answers.

"I thought it was orange?" Ian questions.

"Like your hair?" Mickey snorts, "Dream on, angel-face."

Ian gives him puppy dog eyes.

"Okay yes, it's tied." Mickey admits. Mickey has told Ian many many times that it is the hue of orange on Ian's head though.

"And mine is light blue, exactly like his eyes." Ian says proudly.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a fucking simp. Next question." Mickey waves him off.

“Do we have any plans for Valentine’s day?” Ian reads aloud.

“Yeah, not contribute to the capitalistic patriarchy by engaging in a hallmark holiday.” Mickey sneers.

“But you'll get me a card anyways to show me you love me?” Ian tries, leaning his head on Mickey’s shoulder, trying to be cute.

Mickey rolls his eyes, but cards a hand through Ian’s hair anyway, “This is what? Our fifth or sixth Valentine’s day. Never needed a card to show you I loved you before.”

“Oh, you love me?” Ian smiles.

“Shut up, fucker. According to the love language test, you don't need a card, just some hugs. Cuddly fucking ginger.” Mickey teases.

“Shut up Mr. Words of Affirmation and Quality Time Got Tied.” Ian teases back.

“You’re damn lucky you have comfy sweatshirts to borrow, or your pale ass would have been grass long ago.” Mickey reminds him, eyes scanning up and down at the downpour of “SO CUTE” and “NOTICE ME” comments.

“What's your sign?” Mickey reads allowed, “I don't know? A stop sign?”

“They mean zodiac. I'm a Gemini sun, Virgo moon, and a Cancer rising. And he's a Scorpio sun, aires moon, and Sagittarius rising.” Ian says.

“Yeah whatever the fuck that means.” Mickey nods along.

“It means you're primarily dominated by fire signs with a-” Ian starts.

“Didn't ask, don't care.” Mickey cuts him off.

Ian rolls his eyes and goes back to scanning for an interesting question.

“What antipsychotic is Ian on?” Mickey reads with an eye roll, “I've said this before, I don't feel comfortable disclosing what medication he's on nor do we owe you his private medical information.”

“Mick is really adamant about it, but it is weird I agree.” Ian agrees, “I'm Bipolar and I'm diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety, that's all you really need to know.”

“Who do you live with?” Mickey reads off.

“I live with Mickey and our Betta fish, Minnie like the mouse.” Ian starts.

“He clearly picked out the name just to bother me.” Mickey makes sure to add. “Fish is fucking immortal.”

“I won Minnie at the stupid parking lot carnival for my sixteenth birthday. He was supposed to live like three weeks and I'm twenty-one now. No matter how many times Mickey has tried to off this guy he just keeps on swimming.” Ian says.

“Pretty sure Minnie is a girl.” Mickey appraises.

“Have you ever asked Minnie for their pronouns?” Ian asks.

“I've only asked Minnie to die, and that hasn't happened yet so.” Mickey snarks

“Anyways, we live together. We moved out about a year ago. We used to share a house with Iggy, Colin, and Mandy, Mickey’s siblings.” Ian explains.

“My brother Colin lives with his wife, Jess, now.” Mickey adds.

“And Iggy and Mandy still live in Mick’s childhood home.” Ian finishes.

“Why did you guys start on Tik Tok?” Mickey reads off. “Well about a year ago this orange alien motherfucker downloaded Tik Tok, and all he did was send me funny video after funny video and I would never hear the end of it from this annoying orange if I didn't actually watch it.”

“Hey!” Ian squeaks. “Not nice.”

“True though, you are an annoying orange.” Mickey smirks.

Ian rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly annoyed.

"Don't be fresh." Mickey chides.

Ian still does not look amused, but he uncrosses his arms.

“Hey, don't be grumpy.” Mickey says, pulling Ian onto his lap, “Better, princess?” Mickey teases.

“Much.” Ian admits as Mickey wraps his arms around Ian’s waist and Ian snuggles in closer, tipping his head back to look at Mickey’s blue eyes as Mickey reads the screen.

“Isn’t it heavy having Ian on your lap?” Mickey reads, his arms suddenly crossing over Ian tighter and more protectively.

“Nope, not at all, but I really don't like to comment on weight. It's a really touchy subject for a lot of people and it can be really triggering, especially for Ian. But, nope I couldn't be comfier.” mickey finishes, aware that Ian is watching him intently. Mickey removes a hand from Ian’s waist to gently card through the red waves.

“You look really pretty today Mick.” Ian comments.

“Pretty is all you sweetheart.” Mickey smiles, peppering light kisses on the side of Ian’s neck.

Ian’s face lights up as he giggles, “You need to shave.”

“You need to be less sensitive.” Mickey responds, quirking his eyebrows up in the way that always make Ian laugh, “Anyways now that you're comfy and less grumpy, I made a Tik Tok account just because it was annoying to see the video over that stupid text window. Seeing it over direct message was much more convenient. And I followed Ian and my siblings just because there content was so stupid. Then one day Ian tried to get me to post something, he was trying to show me how to use a filter and he was laughing in bed. So I took a video of us with him holding my hand and giggling like a toddler over me not being able to use a filter. He had his head on my shoulder and it was a cute video. And I posted it, without any hashtags, thinking my what fucking five followers would get a kick out of it. And somehow it would up on what the kids are callin gay Tik Tok.”

“You're twenty-two, tough guy.” Ian interjects.

“Hey! No comments from the peanut gallery. Fucking firecrotch, where was I. Oh anyways somehow I would up with like 5 million fucking likes and a shit ton of followers, and a buncha people followed Ian off of that video. And even my siblings got to exploit our relationship for some Tik Tok clout.” Mickey comments.

“And from there, it just kind of spiraled as things tend to do.” Ian finishes.

“So there's that.” Mickey nods.

“Can we order in Chinese tonight for dinner? Ian asks.

“I mean yeah, but it's ten in the morning Carrot-top. Focus on the task at hand, not your belly.” Mickey chides, poking his stomach.

“Hey!” Ian whines.

“Anywho- how did you meet?” Mickey reads aloud, “Fuck it, we’ve been asked this question nine hundred and five fucking times.”

“It's a long story.” Ian says.

“Are you comfortable with me telling it?” Mickey asks, turning his head to look Ian in the eyes.

“I am if you are.” Ian promises.

“I'm so proud of you, baby.” Mickey reminds him. “Proud of you always.”

“I love you.” Ian responds.

“Well, when I was seventeen-years-old, I did what most seventeen-year-olds who want to be stupid do, I took the allowance that my oldest brother, Colin gave me and decided to take the L train to Boystown and visit a strip club. This was early May, like two weeks from Ian’s sixteenth birthday on the 23rd of May.”

**Boystown, Chicago, 2016: Mickey**

“Senior year blows”, is the only thing I've concluded so far. All the bullshit of the past three years culminates to what? Homecoming, a gym teacher on my ass, and graduation rehearsals? Ew.

If it was up to me, I would have dropped out in freshman year, but unfortunately it's up to my older brother, Colin’s decision. Ever since my dad went to jail in the beginning of my junior year, my brother Colin decided he was head fucking honcho. He severed all ties with my dad’s business and made us get legal jobs. I was working as a freaking cashier at the freaking Kash and Grab with the freakin owner staring at me until Colin’s girlfriend let me work at a tattoo shop that her brother owns as a receptionist/ assistant to the head of house.

Colin is the glue of the family. Confident, assertive, sharp, determined, and all tough love. He's a mechanic or some shit at an auto-body shop. His girlfriend Jess lives with us. She's not a complete cunt like Mandy, but she is on my ass all the time about getting off the couch and doing something useful.

Iggy is quiet. He's observant and smart. Always watching, listening, and planning. He went to college on his own even with Terry there in the beginning. Majoring in psychology. That was a complete and utter fucking shock. Who knew Iggy liked to study the crazies? He got enough practice in this goddamn town anyways to last an entire lifetime. They should just give him his degree already. 

This town is full of fucking lunatics. Drunks and druggies. From a young age, it was just assumed that my siblings and I were exactly like my confederate and homophobic father. My mom bounced when I was three, leaving us with this fucking clown. But Terry is in jail or out of town a lot, so my siblings and I got close. I fight with all of them, but they are damn accepting of my life and the way I live it at the end of the day.

When I sat them all down after my dad was incarcerated last year and simply said “I'm fucking gay.” 

Iggy just snorted as Colin and Mandy each forked over a fifty. Apparently Iggy had bet that I would I'd come out as gay before eighteen, Mandy bet between eighteen and twenty, and Colin bet on after twenty.

No one cares anymore than they cared that Mandy likes boys. Mandy is the youngest by a year and some change. She's a sophomore in high school and she turned sixteen in January. The bitch made us turn our backyard into a ghetto sweet sixteen boozer. She's dramatic and whiny, but she is much tougher than we give her credit for. Iggy dropped her as a kid and she broke her collarbone, and ever since she's been on her toes.

Life could be worse, but it wasn't what I had pictured my life to be when I was on the edge of adulthood. So, this week Colin gave me my allowance for doing the fucking dishes or whatever. They're not bad when you put in music. I decided to hop on the L train to Boystown and do something with my Friday night. My previous sexual experiences consisted of quickies and drunken one night stands with other closeted guys. Even though my siblings didn't care, that doesn't mean I can hold hand with Prince Charming as we braid our hair and trade secrets.

So fuck it. They have an entire town for this shit so I may as well utilize it. I picked a bar that wasn't obnoxiously neon or flamboyantly gay. This nice one by the pier called “Henry’s” that seemed a bit more high end. Hoards of people, mostly older men, were pouring in the front entrance, dressed sharply to impress. I just wore a jean jacket over an old t-shirt with some ripped black jeans.

Most men were at least fifteen years my senior and it made me ridiculously uncomfortable when they hit on me. Like fuck off I’m clearly busy here. If these pedos didn't take their eyes off in a second some serious blood was about to flow.

I take a seat at a table where a waitress with a thick Russian accent fills my empty cup with tap water and a lemon like this isn't a literal strip club. The entire thing feels very “suit and tie” esque. Maybe I should have just gone to the Fairy Tale, fuck.

I am about to get up and call it a night when the DJ gets on the loudspeaker and announces that the dancers are coming out. They aren't dressed like they would be at the fairy tale. Black spandex, a thick black tie, black AF1s, and black cuffed bracelets around their wrists. There is about eight dancers, all male, and all about my own age. Black eyeliner and slicked back hair. Everything about them gave the illusion of sleek and sophisticated, but somehow it made a pit grow in my stomach. All the men paying to watch them were all rich old pervs. All these boys do is gargle old men balls for a living. That's gotta be fucking sad as fuck.

“Curtis or Jax?” the same Russian asks in a bored accent, a pencil tucked behind her ears and a pen at the ready.

“Huh?” I snaps.

“Curtis is only redhead. Jax is only Philippine. 20$ for a ten minute slot between 830 and 840. Only slots left.” The waitress says, sounding bored.

“I'm not looking for a” I start.

“Svetlana!” someone barks from afar. This ignites something in her eyes and she turns to Mickey looking border-line pleading.

“Yes you are. I do not have the time for this Quotas and semantics.” she gestures emphatically.

“Uhh, I guess the red-head.” I answer. I have always had a weird fascination with gingers. Why were they so pale? Why so red at the same time? Why so many freckles? Did the curtains match the drapes? What SPF covers that pale of skin? Are the secretly vampires? So many questions yet so little answers.

“What's your name?” Svetlana barks.

“Mick.” I shorten it, hoping to keep a bit of anonymity. I would have come up with a fake name, but I am rather on the fly.

“Don't move, he come to you.” Svetlana nods curtly and departs.

I squint at the dance going on to “No hands”, trying to pick out a redhead. There's only one in the group. On the thinner side and tall like a bean pole. Muscular but not as much as the rest. All I can think is how young he looks. So fucking young. There's no way in hell that he is of age.

I pull an Iggy and just observes for once. The redhead going from person to person and dancing seductively. He seems to be walking on air. After every person he checks in with a tall bouncer and gives him all of the cash from his waistband while the bouncer slips something into his palm. I can't quite make out what, but Curtis always accepts it gratefully and swallows.

At 8:30 on the dot, Curtis saunters over to me, all confidence and arrogance dripping from him like the sparkle and sweat mix that he seemed to be covered in.

“Mick?” he calls.

“Uh, yeah.” I stammer, scratching my bottom lip with my thumb. Bad habit that Colin always chides me for.

“How's your day going?” Curtis cheers as he spins my chair to face him and immediately gets to work, gyrating over my hips.

“How's my fucking day going?” I ask incredulously.

Curtis pauses his motions and stares me right in the eyes, “Woah.” he gapes.

“What?” I stammer. Do I have spinach in my teeth? Why does he make me so nervous?

Up close, I can see his emerald green eyes, shiny and bright, but clouded and faded. I suddenly got a chill, a bad one. His pupils are large as fuck, he's tweaking like a bitch. The bouncer is feeding him drugs. Up close, I see the freckles covering his face in a boyish innocence. The scars on his chest, hidden by makeup.

“You're eyes are so blue. I've never seen eyes this blue.” Ian gapes, running a hesitant finger across my cheek, in a tender and unexpected way as he moves both hands to briefly cup my face.

“Yeah, okay Firecrotch.” I fire back, raising an eyebrow, trying to gain some traction in this whole mess.

In an unexpected twist, this fucking stripper stops and giggles. Honest to god light and bubbly giggles that made my stomach feel warm.

Laughs so hard that his forehead comes to rest on my shoulder while he struggles to maintain composure.

“Okay giggles, how high are you?” I ask.

“Not at all, high on life.” he responds.

“Curtis, how old are you.”

“Old enough.”

“Doubt it.” I retort. There was no way this guy was any older than seventeen. Even with the makeup obscuring his features, he has a young smile and old eyes.

“I'm more your age than any guy here.” Curtis says.

“You choose to work in a bar full of old man pubes, not me.” I state.

"Fifteen." he relents.

I gape at him, "Fifteen."

"I'm almost sixteen." he protests.

"Almost sixteen. Kid." I whine.

"I haven't been a kid for so long." he says.

"Curtis-" I start.

“Ian.” he says, smiling all teeth.

“Huh?” I quirk my head.

“Not Curtis, my real names Ian. What's yours?”

“Mickey.”

“Like the mouse?” he giggles again. Some fucking stripper.

“Big talk from a fucking ginger.” I fire back, feeling at ease.

“Wow, I went to second grade, I've heard it all.” Ian assures me.

We chat for another minute before the bouncer comes up behind Ian.

“Time to move on, where's the money.”

“His is pro-bono, he's an old friend.” Ian smiles cutely, obviously trying to persuade the bouncer.

“Don't care if he's the god damn pope.He pays or he gets tossed the fuck out like any other guy.” the bouncer growls.

“Chill, Rory.” Ian placates throwing a hand up in mock-submission, but something changes in his eyes, He goes from relaxed to alert. I think I can literally see the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“That'll be a Hamilton.” Ian states.

“Jackson, you moron.” Rory growls.

“Actually after 2016 it became a Tubman- i can see I'm not helping. Heres your twenty, thank you Curtis.” I say quickly.

Ian winks at me, but Rory drags him away by the scruff of his neck.

“Yo Svetlana!” I call when I see her Russian face again.

“Yes?” she asks, annoyed. 

“Get me six vodka shots. You know what make that six and a whiskey. Neat.” I tell her confidently.

“Fucking men.” she mutters as she struts away.

\-----------------------

By midnight, I am hammered. Purposely staying past close. Seven dancers return after the break for lap dances, but Ian is not among them. He's just a stripper, I shouldn't care, but I can't help myself.

I have to pee, I know that.

God, fuck I have to pee.

Fuck it, Ian can save himself. Who am I kidding, I'll probably come back tommroow just to check. 

Colin’s gonna kill me for being out this late without texting. Nosy mother fucker I'm practically an adult.

Adult.

Adult.

Adult.

Ian isn't an adult.

Focus Mickey, I coach myself.

Bathroom.

Bathroom.

Bathroom.

“Svetlana!” I hollar.

“You are cut off and I am about to chase you out with broom.” she responds cooly.

“Bathroom.” I plead.

“You choke on vomit, I leave you there. Past two door, down hall, first room on right. Don't go any further, private rooms.” she instructs.

“Gracias!” I cheer.

Two doors?

Check!

Down hall?

Check and double fucking check.

First room on the?

Right?

No she clearly said left, get your shit together Mickey.

Then I hear it. 

A scream.

Fuck who shrieks like that at a strip club? Like they are being murdered in a cheesy horror movie.

I don't know, but it makes my blood run cold. 

Even though I was expressly wanted by an angry Russian waitress not to go in a private room, I feel compelled. Curiosity killed the fuckin cat, or whatnot.

“No please, please, no! Get off of me, get off of me!” A voice shrieks again. 

“Please please please.” I hear a voice plead as I near the red door, third to the left.

“Please. Henry. You know I'm scared of the dark, take the blind fold off. Please, please I'm so sorry. Sorry please please.” I hear a sob.

I know that voice. 

But from where?

Shit. Mother fucker. That's Ian.

“Ian, don't behave like this in front of the client. Do your job and take it. Rory, tie the handcuffs tighter.” A cold voice responds.

My hand is on the cold door knob, weighing his options.

He couldn't take a bouncer, a client, and and whoever the speaker is in there in his current state.

But fuck he was going to try.

Upon bursting in, he sees Ian, blindfold made of his tie from before tied over his face as tears stream out from under it. He's restrained at the wrists and ankles, and completely naked. An old perv runs his tongue up and down Ian’s torso as Ian’s body is racked with sobs. A tall olive-skinned guy who must have been the speaker is dressed in a neat suit with whiskey in his hand. Watching the scene like it's a fucking movie. Rory is leaned against the wall, observing coldly.

“Oh shit!” I improvise on the spot, “This isn't the bathroom.”

Ian’s head shoots up and his sobs subside and I know that he knows it's me standing here. He mouths, “please”. And fuck if my heart didn't melt at that.

The sharply dressed man shoots up, “I'll show you to the bathroom.”, forcefully pushing my shoulders forward. My heart sinks as they close the door behind me, but it's vital that I don't make a scene if I want this to work.

“Sorry my friend, I know it gets confusing, I'm Henry, the owner. And you are?”

I smile coldly extending a hand, “Mickey. Milkovich.” I watch that dawn on him with satisfaction.

“I'm so sorry, sometimes our clients like things a bit more creative. Curtis is a great actor. For your trouble, come back anytime. First drinks one me.” Henry says, producing a card from his pocket.

_“Henry DeFiglio. Owner. Hospitality specialist. 312-987-0065.” the card read._

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“When we met.” Mickey continues, “He was a stripper at fifteen. He was working as a bartender at a different club, and they drugged him and sold him into human trafficking. Ian was forced into prostitution and lived under the club with seven other dancers and a waitress that were all sold in. I met him when he gave me a lap dance and then I stumbled in on him being blindfolded and tied down while he was punished by letting a client have his way with him. They knew Ian is terrified of the dark, and they used that against him. He was being punished for talking to me too long."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Too dark? Because its gonna get light so soon I want this fic to be mostly fluff between Ian and The Milkovich's. Thank you for all the support!


	3. Chapter 3- the rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/7/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 (really 2) let me know what you think? Heading in the right directions?

**Chapter 3- A/N I hated writing in first POV, especially when trying to reflect multiple POVs. I usually only write a story from first POV if I want the narrator to be purposely unreliable or to see inside the headspace of one individual. So from here on in, I'm going back to third-person-omniscient where it's much easier to reflect the kind of story I want to write without having to worry about nailing everyone’s perspective through one set of eyes.**

**also- this is essential for this chapter; I edited the last chapter so Ian admits to Mickey that he's only 15**

**DISCLAIMER, PART OF THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS LYRICS FROM ED SHEERAN. ALL CREDIT GOES TO HIM, AND I AM NOT ATTEMPTING TO COPY OR TAKE CREDIT FOR HIS WORK!!!**

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“Did you rescue him?” Mickey reads off of the laptop screen while Ian stares at Mickey like he's the most beautiful thing that he has ever seen- and Mickey is the most beautiful thing that Ian has ever seen. His beautiful blue-eyed savior.

“Yeah, my brothers and I did.” Mickey reads off, softly pressing the heel of his hand that isn't secured around Ian’s waist, on Ian’s forehead so he has a better angle to gently scratch at the ginger’s scalp while he zones out.

“How romantic? Really people?” Mickey reads off, sighing in disgust as he snaps, “So romantic that a fifteen year old was being held hostage as a fucking prostitute to serve old pervy closeted men who didn't care about his age, and it took a seventeen year old illegally sneaking into a strip club to care or even notice that a sophomore in high school was sold into the sex trade. Real Romeo and fucking Juliet type shit.”

“Was there anyone else with Ian?” Mickey reads off the laptop screen as hundreds of comments pour in per second. Most of them being “AWWW” “GOALS” “KISS” “YOU MAKE ME BELIEVE IN LOVE” etc.

Sneaking a glance at the red-head on his lap who had his eyes locked on Mickey’s eyes like they were the green light in The Great Gatsby, Mickey feels a sense of desperation tugging at his heart strings. Even though he can feel Ian’s grounding and reassuring weight on his lap, he can't help but get a little panicky and over-protective at the memory of his best friend and soulmate being hurt by other men. Sick perverts.

“You okay Angel?” Mickey whispers, pressing another kiss to Ian’s temple and ignoring all the “AWWS” in the comments. 

“I'm okay.” Ian nods, his hand that was covering Mickey’s tattooed hand on his waist, squeezes tightly in reassurance. Ian’s other hand rests on Mickey’s thigh, the side of his thumb absent-mindedly drawing patterns and rubbing soothing circles onto Mickey’s sweatpant-clad-thigh.

“Do you want me to stop?” Mickey asks, seriously, prepared to close the laptop at any moment. As much as he liked the fans and approval of his relationship with Ian, he would never continue for a second at Ian’s expense or if he wasn't completely and totally on board.

“No, I'm good.” Ian confirms, confidently squeezing Mickey’s smaller hand with his larger one.

“Anything you wanna add?” Mickey asks, continuing to run his tattooed fingers through the silky red strands.

“No, I like hearing you tell it. You've got a good story telling voice, I could listen to you talk all day.” Ian compliments, smiling dreamily.

Mickey kisses the top of his head fondly and Ian turns his head to nuzzle his cheek into Mickey’s chest.

“Such a fucking mush, you're so fucking cuddly today.” Mickey observes, enjoying every minute of it even if he seemed annoyed. 

“Anyway, there were seven other boys with him, and one seventeen year girl who was the waitress. Ian was the baby of the group and the newest, so she stayed with him and tried so hard to keep him as safe as possible, while keeping herself safe and out of trouble. She would sleep in bed with Ian and cuddle him until he fell asleep every night that she could. Ian’s afraid of the dark and he still won't sleep alone because he's scared something will happen to him when he's got no one to watch his back because they used to pluck him out of bed in his sleep and torment him. And they’d punish him by making him stay alone in the dark for days on end, handcuffed to the headboard. Anyways that girl was Ian’s roommate and she was forced to sell out his body every night. Ian was the youngest at fifteen, the others six were all seventeen or eighteen, and the oldest one was nineteen.” Mickey explains. 

**Boystown, Chicago, 2016:**

Mickey Milkovich stumbled into his house drunk at two in the morning, passed out in his bed, and didn't wake up until the sun was shining in his face out of spite and the birds were chirping like they were a karmic and pointed personal punishment from god themself.

Fisting wildly at his sleep-encrusted blue eyes, the seventeen-year-old found himself confused and dazed for a moment. But there was something tugging at the back of his mind that left an unpleasant feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. 

There was something that he had to remember, or was it someone?

Did he get married last night or something?

Mickey swishes his mouth out with mouthwash and brushes his teeth in the bathroom to mitigate the gross taste that resided in his mouth from the alcohol. 

Why the fuck is he still wearing the god damn jeans from last night?

Feeling around his jean pockets for a cigarette, but instead he finds the card from last night.

“What the fuck.” he mutters aloud, reading the card, “ _Henry DeFiglio. Owner. Hospitality specialist. 312-987-0065.”_

Then it hits him like a homophobic asshole’s fist hits a cheek, and has hit his very own cheek before. Who he met last night. Ian. Ian shit.

“Colin.” Mickey shouts out loud, stumbling out into the hallway before gaining his composure, fueled by determination.

“At the table.” Colin calls out in response.

A quick scan tells Mickey that Jess isn't here. Iggy is on the worn and old couch watching Saturday morning cartoons while smoking a joint like a fourteen year old would do. Mandy is nowhere to be found or seen, but it's still early so she's probably asleep still. 

“I need your help.” Mickey urges, plopping in the folding chair in front of Colin who was eating spoonfuls of breakfast cereal at the table.

“With?” Colin asks.

“I met someone last night.” Mickey explains quickly.

“Nice, bring him home for dinner.” Colin says dismissively, continuing to eat his cereal.

“No you don't get it, he's fifteen years old.” Mickey rushes.

“Okay, so don't get a statutory charge.” Colin shrugs.

“He's a prostitute at Henry’s in Boystown.” Mickey tells him finally, cringing in advance to the lecture that he was about to get.

This gets Colin’s full attention finally as he spoon _clinks_ into his cereal bowl and sinks under the Lucky Charms. “Mickey! You met him where? You were supposed to be at your friend Alex’s house last night. Not a damn strip club. You're a minor, do you have any idea what could happen to you Mickey? If you disappeared I wouldn't have even known where to look. Jesus Mick for such a brilliant kid could you be any more stupid.” Colin berates.

“Colin lecture me later please. He's fifteen years old and I caught his manager blindfolding him and holding him down while the kid screamed and begged for them to stop, saying he was sorry. And some pedophile was licking on him when I walked in while the manager just watched him cry and scream. He was crying because he's afraid of the dark.” Mickey pleads his case with an air of desperation.

Colin shifts his gaze from side to side, chewing the inside of his cheek as he ponders what Mickey was saying.

“Did you get any more information on him? Name?” Colin asks.

“His name is Ian, he goes by Curtis on stage. Red-head, tons of freckles, super pale and Irish. He told me that he's fifteen years old, Colin. Just fifteen. His boss is Henry Defiglio, and he has this bouncer named Rory that gives him drugs after each turn to keep him complacent in this. All the dancers are super young, but he's the youngest by far and it's obvious that he isn't doing this by choice. I have such a bad feeling Col, we have to help.” Mickey explains.

“Holy shit.” a voice materialized from behind them. Mandy stands there, dressed in pink pajamas looking absolutely horrified at what she had just heard. 

“Yes?” Colin asks, looking exasperated already.

“That's Ian fucking Gallagher you just described.” Mandy gapes.

“Like Frank Gallagher? Deadbeat drunk lives under the El Gallagher? More kids than anyone can count Gallagher?” Colin asks as Iggy makes his way over to listen to the commotion.

“Yeah, he's one of six or seven in that litter. He dropped out in the first week of freshman year when he was fourteen. I had English with him. No one has heard from him in my school since he turned fifteen.” Mandy rushes.

“Ah shit.” Colin sighs, rubbing at his temples and looking very frustrated.

“How is he?” Mandy asks, looking genuinely sad.

“I mean, not great to be honest with you.” Mickey admits.

“He was one of those kids that were so smiley and upbeat no matter how many bruises he had on his face. He yelled at a guy for hitting on me after I asked the guy to stop.” Mandy gushes.

“Where is this kid’s parents? I mean there's another one besides Frank right? Someone has to be missing him or caring that he's gone.” Iggy asks, leaning up against the doorframe.

“The mom killed herself at some point after she had the youngest, and his dad is Frank Gallagher. There's so many kids that no one even cares that he's gone. The truancy officer put up more of a fight than his siblings did. He's just another mouth to feed for them. Since he left, his older sister got arrested for having his baby brother get into her coke, and his older brother Lip has gone to jail for vandalism and assault and battery when drunk. He's got a ten-year-old brother in juvie, and then there are a couple more Gallagher siblings that I can’t account for.” Mandy explains.

“Fucking a.” Colin mutters under his breath.

“Colin, what can I do here?” Mickey begs, the pure caring and emotion in his eyes tugging on Colin’s heart strings. Mickey never gets like this. Never cares enough to and he's always so god damn independent and secretive. Colin can't remember the last time Mickey asked him for help.

“Fine. Iggy, go round up the boys. We’re doing some pedophile beating in Boystown.” Colin instructs, sounding exasperated, but looking resolute in his choice.

“Can I come?” Mandy begs like this is some kind of fun event.

“No, Mandy this is an underage prostitution ring bust not a night out on the town, stay here.” Colin barks.

“That's sexist as fuck.” Mandy whines.

“Hey! This kid is your age, pimped out and on drugs. I’m so fucking grateful that this isn’t any of you, and you should be too. Stay here where you are safe.” Colin asserts, always the protector.

And not ten minutes later, Colin drives Iggy and Mickey there, Iggy taking the shotgun seat, while Mickey sits in the back forlornly, holding an actual shotgun.

“So this kid is really an A-team case huh? I don't usually see you this fired up on someone else’s behalf, Mikhailo.” Colin says, shooting him a meaningful glance.

“What the fuck is an A-Team case?” Mickey asks.

“Like that song by that guy.” Iggy says unhelpfully.

“What song?” Mickey quirks his head.

“God, dude are you even gay? Ed Sheeran. Ginger fucker. Sings tons of songs on the radio” Colin says, tossing his phone back blindly to Mickey who fumbles to catch it.

Mickey did know who this Ed Sheeran guy is. Ginger. Irish. Pale. Totally Mickey’s type. That doesn't mean he just intrinsically knows every song though.

Mickey holds Colin’s cracked phone up to his ear to hear the song playing on You Tube as Colin continues to drive steadily to Boystown.

“White lips, pale face

Breathing in the snowflakes

Burnt lungs, sour taste

Light's gone, days end

Struggling to pay rent

Long nights, strange men

And they say

She's in the Class A Team

Stuck in her daydream

Been this way since 18

But lately, her face seems

Slowly sinking, wasting

Crumbling like pastries

And they scream

The worst things in life come free to us

'Cause we're just under the upper hand

And go mad for a couple grams

And she don't wanna go outside tonight

And in a pipe she flies to the motherland

Or sells love to another man

It's too cold outside

For angels to fly

Ripped gloves, raincoat

Tried to swim, stay afloat

Dry house, wet clothes

Loose change, bank notes

Weary-eyed, dry throat

Call girl, no phone

….

It's too cold outside

For angels to fly

An angel will die

Covered in white

Closed eyes and hopin' for a better life

This time, we'll fade out tonight

Straight down the line

….

It's too cold outside

For angels to fly

Angels to die”- Ed Sheeran.

“Jesus fuck, Colin. That's so fucking depressing.” Mickey yelps a chill going down his spine. That couldn't be Ian. That wouldn't be Ian, not if Mickey could help it. Shit, shit, shit.

“It's reality Mick.” Iggy states, plainly.

“Yeah, the reality is that I don't want a fifteen year old to die because of pedophiles not being able to keep their dicks in their pants.” Mickey argues back, feeling emotional and protective.

“Me and you both kid, it's a cruel world.” Colin states warmly.

It's another ten minutes to Boystown and they all stay silent.

By the time all fifteen of Iggy and Colin’s neighborhood boys get there, it's about eleven o’clock in the morning. The club is nowhere near open, but Mickey has the sneaking suspicion that operation hours have nothing to do with the hidden nefariousness in the underbelly of the seemingly-classy and elegant club.

Mickey should have known it when this was the only club trying to hide what it was. At least the FairyTale called a spade, a spade, right? Masquerading behind class and sleek desgongs didn't distract from the evil hat hiding underneath the perfect molding and elegant white wallpaper. Or the sleek floors that were so shiny that they squealed under his boots when Mickey stepped in.

Svetlana rushes over, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and worn out black sweatpants, “Club not open till 5. Come back then.”

“We want to speak to your boss.” Colin asserts, cracking his knuckles for show.

“If you guys would like to rent a dancer for a private group event, you will have to wait until the clock read 5 like everyone else does. No special privileges for bat-wielding white trash.” Svetlana bites out, sounding serious.

“We just need to speak to Henry, your boss, look he gave me his card.” Mickey reasons, producing his card for everyone to see.

Svetlana’s eyes narrow, “You again? I was hoping you had drowned in your own damned vomit.” Svetlana spits.

“Me? What did I do?” Mickey asks in genuine surprise.

“Any man who takes a dance from Curtis is beyond evil in my book.” Svetlana growls.

“We’re here to help, Ian. We knew him before all of this.” Mickey tries, lying a little, but the name drop of her favorite boy and the young dancer that Svetlana was so fiercely protective of has something over her that completely changes her demeanor.

Her eyes widen in fear, “Don't say that you stupid moron. You'll get him killed. He is hurt bad enough from talking to you as is. He doesn't deserve more hurt and he can't handle any more, please leave now.”

“More hurt?” Where is he?” Colin demands.

“Rest of the boys are cleaning private rooms, but _Curtis_.” she asserts forcefully, knowing that Ian’s real name could be used against him because even if Ian didn't speak to his family, blackmailing them is something that Ian can't afford to be a part of. “He has not come out of the basement today. He probably will not until Monday. Training. You go now, now, now.”

“Have you checked on him? Is he okay?” Mickey begs.

“Can't check, I have already said too much. Go, he will be okay just needs time.” Svetlana nods gravely.

“Svetlana, why aren't the bathrooms clean yet!” A deep voice screams in a boom.

In Russian Svetlana mutters something that is very unintelligible to the crew of men surrounding her. It doesn't translate to English well. However, it roughly translates to, “ _If these stupid pig men get me or orange boy in trouble I will cut off their dicks and feed them to a wild street dog and curse their entire lineage.”_

“Svetlana!” the same booming and dangerous thunderclap of a scream is heard again as Henry comes into view. Dressed in a sharp and expensive flawlessly unwrinkled suit even though it's before noon.

Svetlana stands up straighter and more alertly, just like Ian had done last night. Her eyes clock and register the danger in front of her. That's what both her and Ian did when they knew that danger was coming. Stood up straight and faced the storm, never taking their eyes off of the cycling hurricane barreling towards them. It keeps the pair as strong as they can manage to be.

“Oh it's you again, Mr. Milkovich! I see you brought some friends with you, but fine gentleman these aren't operational hours. However, I would be more than happy to have Svetlana arrange a private room for all of you guys tonight when the club opens at five.” Henry says, amicably and Iggy resists the urge to punch him.

Colin steps forward, in his element even if he didn't like behaving like this. The element that he tried so hard to stay out of. He would only go back to his old ways for three people; Iggy, Mickey, and Mandy. The eldest Milkovich hasn't heard this much emotion and consideration from his youngest brother since before their mom. And he was damned if he was going to let that emotion turn into frustration and misplaced anger from helplessness. He had to help and now he was deeply invested.

“Yeah, we’d like to book a room with your dancer _Curtis_ for five tonight.” Colin sneers, putting air quotes around the dancer and Curtis.

“Unfortunately, Curtis is unavailable for the night. I can book you with Ken or River instead.” Henry tries.

“Why is he unavailable?” Iggy frowns in mock sadness, putting out a pouty lip and stepping forward menacingly. 

“Maybe because the fifteen-year-old you have in your basement is too bruised from being assaulted while he was restrained and blindfolded and begging for you to stop? Could that be it? Is that a possibility you sick mother fucker.” Mickey growls.

“I-” Henry starts looking perplexed.

“Here’s how this is going to go. You're going to let all of these kids go, and we call the cops, and you go to jail. That's your best case scenario, but it's not the funnest. I would much prefer to tie you up and cut off your fingers one by one and let all fifteen of us have a turn beating the shit out of you for pure fun because you are one sick and twisted fuck.” Colin snaps.

“Do you know how long he can live without a dick, because if it's too short of a time span, we can just pull his teeth or his fingernails out one by one instead.” Iggy shrugs.

“Why not both?” one of Iggy’s friends sneers.

“You sick psycho-” Henry starts but he's abruptly stopped by Mickey’s shouts.

“Hey buddy. I'm not the one selling out underaged boys and making my fortune off of their downfall.” Mickey yells.

“Ian is of age, all of my boys are.” Henry lies.

“All of your boys, that's rich. According to what exactly? A clearly fake ID, or the guy who sold him to you?” Iggy demands.

“Well-” he starts but Colin lands a closed fisted blow across his face, finally getting his wish to punch him.

“I'm tired of his shit, boys tie him up. Call the cops in five minutes. Let's liberate the people.” Colin shouts as a battle cry, while waving his gun in circles above his head. 

“Svetlana, you stay with this sick fuck and keep him tied up please, you'll be free soon.” Mickey promises.

It was truly a great feeling to tell the borderline-enslaved teenage boys scrubbing toilets on their hands in knees in tattered clothing, looking all bruised and battered without the makeup and the stage lighting to obscure these marks from view, that they were now free to go because their boss was tied up and Iggy had found the security guard, Rory, with his pants literally down in the bathroom and handcuffed him to the stall with Rory’s own handcuffs.

In each room, another boy was more and more thankful than the last to be free, but still no Ian in sight. None of the ex-dancers had any clue where the basement was, but they all said the same thing when they were told that they were free; “What about Ian? He's the ginger. You have to save him too, he's just a kid”. They were all kids, but the concern that the ex=dancers had for Ian was palpable.

Eventually, Mickey, Iggy, and Colin found an entrance behind a hall closet to a creaky and old wooden staircase that smelled of dirty must, sewer water, and rat droppings.

Mickey had seen a lot of messed up shit in his seventeen-years on this planet.

Colin had seen a lot of messed up shit in his twenty-one-years on this planet.

Mickey had seen a lot of shit messed up in his twenty-three-years on this planet.

They had all seen a lot of shit that was so beyond messed up. Between their dad and living on the Southside. None of this compared to it. Not in the slightest bit.

And nothing they had seen ever would have or could have prepared them for this sight in front of them. The state of Ian Gallagher’s living conditions were truly appallingly cruel and inhumanly barbaric. 

The room was so dirty and miskept that a fine layer of dust coated almost everything. A _plink plink plink_ sound could be heard orange-brown murky water stayed steadily tricking from the ceiling into buckets that were slowly overflowing and spilling the water onto the concrete floors that were littered with broken glass and rat droppings. It was the complete and utter antithesis of the upstairs where everything was straight from a Gentleman’s Quarterly version of Pinterest. This was a horror scene that rivaled the setting of every horror movie that any of the Milkovich brothers had heard or seen from Saw to It to The Conjuring

The medium grey concrete walls were stained with various colored liquids that Colin had a hard time ignoring. Was that blood?

Iggy is focused on the various instruments on the torment wall that are all macabre blinds and shackles. Holy shit, is all he can think. His mind runs, thinking of all the ways that the boy Mickey describes has already been hurt. Iggy has been on pedophile bashings, but nothing like this.

In the gorey horror of the dark and damp basement, they almost miss it.

The tiny beige cot in the far corner of the room. It was on floor level and it was covered by a tattered and worn old green blanket that looked like someone had thrown over the poor excuse for a bed in haste. Next to the cot was a bucket labeled “vomit” in sharpie.

The blanket is all bunched up and lumpy, and Mickey takes slow and hesitant steps towards it until he sees a pale foot with a dark metal handcuff dangling off the edge of the cut. The handcuff was attached to a dark metal bolt that was nailed to the wall on floor level. It was specifically built for this purpose. Ian couldn't leave this hell hole even if he was strong enough to leave it.

“Jesus christ.” Colin mutters under his breath shakily. Colin was thinking how there's like a 50/50 chance this kid is dead already.

“Ian!” Mickey shouts scrambling forwards at top speed towards the red-headed lump of blankets that was the stripper he had met last night.

Mickey makes quick work of pulling back the green old blanket to reveal a pale face. Lips as blue as snow. But it was Ian’s face, even if his eyes were closed. Mickey could see the freckles on his eyelids and the dark eyelashes that were as thick as paintbrushes.

“Is he-” Colin starts, kneeling next to his brother.

“No he can't be.” Mickey gushes, tears of frustration springing in his eyes.

“Feel his pulse, morons.” Iggy quips, pulling the blanket down even further to reveal the ginger’s neck which was littered with deep purple hickeys, long and angry red scratch, and actual bloody bite marks.

Iggy puts two shaky fingers in the redhead’s neck, noting how young he truly looked with his eyes closed and let out the gust of oxygen that Iggy Milkovich didn't even realize that he was holding in.

“He's got a heartbeat.” Iggy confirms.

“Oh thank god!” Colin exclaims blinking away the wet in his eyes.

“God isn't here.” Mickey concludes, bitterly and with a typical sour expression. Mickey’s pale “FUCK” hand stretches out shakily, towards the old green blanket, gingerly pulling it back even further to reveal the young boy curled up in fetal position, in a pair of green boxers, holding something possessively close to his chest.

Feeling the cold air assault his already abused body, Ian’s eyes spring open and the boys finally see how glassy they are as Ian trembles, feebly. Withdrawals from all of the drugs he had been on. Yet another method of torture. At least a little light flowed in from the windows for Ian to see with. Mickey knew from the previous night that the boy was utterly terrified and petrified of the dark.

“Shhhh shhh.” Mickey soothes, reaching out to touch his hair, but thinking better of it. Ian’s emerald green eyes struggle sluggishly to focus on anyone and he seems more dazed and confused than anything.

On a whim and a weird older brother’s intuition, Colin put his calloused hand to the pale boy’s forehead. “Oh little prince, you have a fever.” Colin coos putting a hand over Ian’s that was clutched so tightly to his chest. Ian rolls slightly and the Milkovich brothers can see that he has a white shredded blanket clutched to his chest.

“No, no, no.” Ian mutters in a soft slur, lips moving too fast for his words to keep up with, “Don't take it, I'll be good. I'm being good. Good. Please. Please. Please. Don’ take it.” 

“Oh shit.” Iggy gasps, “He still has a baby blanket, that's what he's so worried about them taking his fucking comfort object, the only thing that he has a secure attachment to. They take away his fucking baby blanket and keep him in the dark to control him. Jesus fuck, we have to get him out of here.”

Mickey didn't know what any of those words meant, but by the look on Iggy’s face and the way Ian radiated the shaky fear of being utterly traumatized, Mickey figured that he was being tormented for the entirety of his stay here.

Iggy moves up to make eye contact with Ian, “No one is going to take your blanket, Ian. You are safe here. My name is Iggy Milkovich, you met my brother Mickey last night. We’re here to rescue you. Is it okay if I touch your ankle to help get you out?”

Ian shoots up at that, eyes darting around wildly like he was scanning for something, but he turns his attention back to Iggy and makes direct eye contact with him, “Mick. Bluest eyes.” Ian slurs but he looks at Iggy.

Iggy can't help but smile a little bit, “Yes, Mick has blue eyes. He's right here see? Maybe Mickey can help take that cuff off of your ankle, I bet it's hurting you, huh?” Iggy reasons.

Mickey scoots over to sit next to Iggy, his knees digging into the dark and damp concrete floor, soaking his best pair of jeans, but he didn't care. Ian’s entire face lights up when he sees Mickey. “Mick!”

“Hi Firecrotch, we’re here to get you home.” Mickey explains, doing his best to give a non-threatening smile.

That widens Ian’s glassy green eyes, “I don't have a home. I can't go home. Don't make me go back there.” Ian begs suddenly, tears filling up his green eyes and spilling down his porcelain cheeks.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. You can come stay with us if you want.” Colin offers, but when Ian shows no recognition of those words, “With Mickey, um Mick, you can stay with Mick.”

“Mick.” Ian repeats, then, as if spurred by an invisible force, throws his arms forcefully around Mickey’s shoulders, his baby blanket still fisted in one hand so tightly that his already ghost white knuckles turned impossibly paler as they strained with effort, “Please don't leave me here, Mick. Please, please, please. They're gonna hurt me again.”

Mickey blinks in surprise for a second before bringing both of his hands up to wrap around Ian’s bare pale back, gently scratching his back in soothing shoulders with his fingertips. He's even more surprised when Ian leans even further into the touch, nuzzling his head into Mickey’s shoulder. The soft red strands that stand astray at all angles brush against Mickey’s cheek.

“Smell good.” Ian slurs, completely delirious.

“You're super cuddly, huh?” Mickey smiles, experimentally taking one hand off of Ian’s back and scratching his scalp the way that Colin does when they get sick. Ian practically purrs and presses in further to the contact.

“Poor baby, you're probably so touch starved.” Iggy coos at the sight.

“Touch starved? Doesn't he get touched too much in his line of work?” Colin asks, with a cock of his head.

“Not positive touches, he's still a kid that needs reassurance. Especially if he grew up the way Mandy describes. C'mon Mick we have to get him out of here. This isn't a healthy environment for him to be in.” Iggy urges.

“Mick, can you hold him while I do his ankle, it's gotta be cut off and I don't want him to cut himself by kicking.” Colin warns.

“Hey Ian.” he whispers directly in Ian’s ear, conveniently located right, “My brothers gonna help get your ankle free, and then we can go home okay.”

“Don't leave me.” Ian slurs, leaning his weight even further and further into Mickey as he almost passes out from the withdrawals combined with the comforting touches.

Colin gently attempts to cut his ankle, but Ian kicks out as soon as Colin’s fingertips graze it. They all freeze.

“Hey shhh, shhh. It's okay.” Mickey soothes. Ian goes still in his arms, melting back into the embrace.

Colin makes quick work of cutting off Ian’s ankle restraints and then scans the room for anything else he might need to take.

He finds a cardboard box by the cot containing a faded army jacket, a pair of black high top Converse, a pair of ratty and old black sweatpants, a black zip-up-hoodie, and a green beanie.

“He's shaking, Mick help him put on the pants and sweatshirt. Colin put the green blanket he was under in the box too. We can throw these all out if he doesn't want them, but these are probably his only worldly possessions, so better to have than to chuck them out if he's attached to them.

Mickey manages to put on the black sweatpants because Ian is more or less passed out unconscious, slumped against the older boy.

The sweatshirt becomes a problem, because he can only get it one one side without taking the baby blanket away from Ian.

Colin tries to help, but Iggy stops him, “Just let Mick touch him for now. Throw the sweatshirt over him, like it's a blanket, it's better than nothing. You don't want to overload him with stimulation and push him into sensory overload. They thrived on taking away any sensory input from him like his blanket, other contact, the light. Too much stimuli after being deprived can overload you quickly.” Iggy explains.

Colin doesn't understand, but he trusts his middle brother to know better than he would. All those classes at the university in a field that Colin knew nothing about were finally paying off. Because Colin didn't know child psychology, but Iggy did.

Just then, a middle aged cop barrels down the stairs. “Jesus christ! Are you boys the ones who called this in?” the cop asks.

“Yes sir.” Colin answers, standing up straight and formally. No way was he going to let his last name ruin this.

“The other dancers have either gone to the hospital with a social worker or home with families that came and got them. Does he have a family or do we need another social worker to come take him to the hospital? If he's old enough he can live on his own or in group housing after that, but if he's under eighteen years of age, which most of these boys are, and has no family then he will probably go into a group home for troubled adolescent youth.”

“Yeah, he has a family.” Mickey answers with a sneer.

“Oh great, who?” the cop asks, sounding relieved.

“Us.” Colin answers resolutely, “C'mon Ian time to go home.” Colin calls.

And when Mickey picks the redhead up in a bridal style carry, and the seventeen-year-old's heart sinks all the way to the ground when he realizes just how easy it is to pick the ex-dancer up.

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

  
  


“When my brothers and I found him, he was dehydrated, staving, malnourished, and he had a fever of 103 from withdrawals of the drugs since he was locked in the basement. He was covered in bruises, cuts, bites, hickeys, dirt, spit, and blood. I remember his skin so pale in contrast to all of the things marking it up. If we didn't rescue Ian then, I don't know how much longer he was going to last.” Mickey admits, having to steady himself, safe in the knowledge that the happy, healthy, well-adjusted, and thriving man on his lap wasn't that scared fifteen-year-old anymore.

“But you did find me babe. You saved me.” Ian assures him, reading his thoughts like always.

“Always gonna save you, E.” Mickey promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think
> 
> the next chapter will be Ian's first night living with the Milkoviches and just him and Mickey bonding
> 
> chapter 5 will be the following morning where he meets the rest of the Milkovich siblings and they set about giving him the best life possible
> 
> Anyone watch the new episode? Thoughts? I think Lip is taking this too far because he could always move into his dads house, Frank was actually sad today to watch, Carl and Tish was weird and confusing, Sandy was a little too mean to Debbie, Debbie was bratty with the custody, Kevin driving the bike off of the pier when Lip and Brad needed it annoyed me but I love Kev so I forgive him instantly, someone should PAY ATTENTION TO LIAM, and Gallavich? 11/10, chefs kiss.


	4. chapter 4- first night home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/8/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a fluffy filler with a few subtle hints and set ups for major things to come, the next chapter will be better. Its when Ian wakes up and gets bombarded by all of the Milkovich siblings and tits just really cuddly and hey do things like take him to the doctor or the dentist
> 
> Any ideas or tropes you want in the next chapter, Im open to recommendations please do be sure to comment them

Chapter 4- 

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

**AN- I am not fluent in Russian and Google Translate won't do this justice, so I just indicated the places where Svet or Ian were supposed to be speaking Russian and wrote what they were supposed to say in English**

**I know I said Svet and the Gallaghers wouldn't be heavily in this but I feel like Liam, Carl, and Svet are too good to leave out**

“Did Ian’s family care that he was in that situation?” Mickey reads off, dreading this particular question more than the others because it still burned the love of his life, even after all these years.

“Let's see, Ian lost touch with his family when he left his house and joined the army two weeks after he turned fifteen. He was one of seven kids if you include his half sister, Sami. Ian’s mom died when he was thirteen from postpartum depression. His alcoholic dad beat the shit out of him all the time regularly. One day his older brother who was his best friend got drunk and helped his dad beat up Ian while his other siblings watched him get beat half to death. So he got up and left for good. He joined the army with a fake identification, which something he got excused from the army later on so don't bother calling the cops. 

He got kicked out after a month, and didn't want to go back home, so he started working at the strip club, and that club illegally sold him to Henry’s. His family either didn't know or didn't fucking care. So many of them that it's hard to keep up with who is an asshole and who is just forgetful. His older brother knew he was a stripper, and just said Ian’s carelessness and recklessness landed him there. Sad because they were best friends as a kid.” Mickey responds, sounding like he has a sad undertone.

Ian just nods along to Mickey’s words, looking almost indifferent when Lip is brought up.

“Ian started to resume talking to his family around his sixteenth birthday, but some of the damage was irreparable. But, he still meets his two younger brothers for ice cream once a week, and his youngest sister meets Ian at the park with her daughter every once in a blue moon. But it's not like it was.” Mickey explains.

“You guys are my family.” Ian says softly yet confidently, dragging the back of his index finger lovingly down Mickey’s cheek. 

Mickey chuckles and cradles his partner closer to his body. So close that he can no longer tell if the heartbeat he hears is Ian’s heartbeat, his own heartbeat, or if they have simply become one steady and intertwined rhythm of blood pumping back and forth from the heart.

“Yeah, you are family, cutie.” Mickey smiles in palpable adoration. 

“What tipped you off, huh? Was it when we got married and you legally became Ian Milkovich?” Mickey teases.

“You guys have always made me feel like family since day one.” Ian responds earnestly, continuing to lightly stroke Mickey’s cheek in a way that made Mickey’s heart turn to goo and warmth light up his whole body at the sensation of those fingertips touching his skin so feather-light like Mickey was something that Ian treasured so much that he was afraid to break him.

“Mwah.” Mickey responds, smacking a wet and sloppy kiss on Ian’s cheek.

“Ewwww.” Ian whines, dramatically swiping away his own cheek with the hand that was just on Mickey’s cheek, “So gross Mick! Go back to telling me how cute I am.” Ian says with a bat of his thick black eyelashes.

“Well now you're putting words in my mouth ya fucking carrot. And look, thousands of comments have piled up. Jesus Christ, we’re up to fifty-thousand viewers.” Mickey gapes, feeling genuine awe at the situation.

“When did you guys start having sex.” Ian giggles lightly, “Well that's a rather personal question to ask, you guys are really frickin bold.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, “Ian just say fucking, you're not a bad influence.”

Ian raises an eyebrow, “Fucking.”

“Nice.” Mickey praises, patting his head.

“Anyway, we didn't have sex until he was eighteen years old. Not really because of the statutory thing, more because he was healing and I didn't want to be like the other guys. We built a solid foundation based on mutual respect and trust or what fucking ever. And then Ian wanted to have sex, but I wanted to wait until he was of age, just because of what he was healing from. Sure we slept in the same bed and made out but we really went no further than seventh grade shit.” Mickey says.

Ian sat up straighter in Mickey's arms, suddenly having a completely renewed interest for answering people’s questions, “I still sleep with a baby blanket at nineteen, I feel so valid right now.” Ian reads off.

“Aww I'm glad that you feel valid. I still sleep with my blanket and I'm twenty one years old, but most nights I just leave it on top of the comforter and trace the material with the hand Mickey isn't holding if I feel like I need extra comfort. I used to rely on it a lot more, but now I have Mickey too, so things are easier. But there's no set age to stop needing comfort from your childhood, especially if you had one that made you feel unsafe or insecure. I also feel much much safer now than I did at any other point in my life. I was never really afraid of the dark until those people started leaving me in the dark and doing things to me in the dark as a punishment. But Mick has really been so freakin wonderful and beyond patient with my fears and hangups and he has helped me overcome a lot of that anxiety. Even so, I'll probably always still want my blanket just in case.” Ian explains.

Mickey smirks at the praise, “Yeah, yeah, ginger Linus.”

A deep frown graces Ian’s freckled face as he reads the screen, obviously seeing a comment that he didn't like or one that hurt his feelings. Mickey picks up on his husband’s distress instantly.

They were no strangers to hate comments. Usually, Ian seemed to brush them off better than Mickey, who always got super angry, defensive, and protective. Ian had a much easier time with the concept of brushing off a random stranger’s opinion. But when a comment got to Ian, it really fucking got to him. So badly. Sometimes random trolls just know how to hit you exactly where it hurts.

Mickey knows that by the both of them sharing their own vulnerabilities they have helped hundreds of thousands of people overcome their own vulnerabilities. They get an outpouring of positive comments, support, and fan letters telling them how their presence online has helped all these people feel less alone. But sometimes, people can be cruel and they turn those vulnerabilities right back around on the two of them and use it to spew hateful comments designed to hurt them. Thankfully, those are few and far between, but Mickey has had to filter a couple words from the comment section to avoid this. Even so, it's not foolproof. That's why Mickey is so afraid to talk about Ian’s medication or Svetlana’s name. Some people were just downright cruel and Mickey couldn't stand that happening to his husband.

“What is it, love?” Mickey asks, knowing instantly.

“Nothing.” Ian shrugs quickly, avoiding eye contact.

“Ian.” Mickey says firmly, giving him that _look_ , “What is it, E?”

Ian sighs in defeat, giving Mickey one last pleading look that Mickey returns with the same pressing stare, and Ian gives in, finally spilling the comment that bothered him.

“Someone asked how much you payed for a twink like me and then said you should get a refund if you had to wait so long before having sex with the lights on with a used up and broken whore who still sleeps with a baby blanket. They said that you should send me back to the club.” Ian admits sheepishly, averting his gaze.

Mickey presses Ian’s face into his chest and inhales the distinct scent of his hair, having to ground himself and remind himself that Ian was still in his arms and safe. “Well that's silly because you'd never go back. A; Henry is in jail. And B; Mandy, Iggy, Colin, and I love you so fucking much. You're a Milkovich now and nothing could ever change that. Those are just words baby, you know how much I love you, right?. Whose name is tattooed over my heart, huh?” Mickey asks.

Ian mumbles something unintelligible into Mickey’s sweatshirt and the vibrations of Ian’s voice get muffled by the thick quality of Ian’s own hoodie that Mickey had stolen to wear.

“What was that mumbles?” Mickey teases.

“Mine.” Ian mumbles again, this time loud enough for only Mickey to hear.

“What's that?” Mickey teases.

“My name.” Ian responds unenthusiastically.

“Whose name? Can't hear you in my sweatshirt there.” Mickey points out, totally just wanting Ian to say it louder even though he can hear him perfectly fine already.

“Ian Milkovich.” Ian practically shouts out, picking his head up from Mickey’s chest.

“Whose name is on the inside of the ring on my finger, huh?” Mickey prompts again, smoothing back Ian’s slightly long copper curls, tucking the same strand behind Ian’s ear again and again.

“My name.” Ian grumbles lowly.

“That's right love.” Mickey says softly, patting his head, “And don't you ever forget it.”

**Southside, Chicago, 2016:**

The police officer had given Ian a choice, of answering some Henry-related questions and filing a report now or filing it later.

Ian was not up to that kind of task in the slightest, but Mickey, Iggy, and Colin had to give their statements, so he wearilly plopped in a chair with Mickey as the police officer took their statements there, no reason to move to the police station and further upset Ian. They had managed to get Ian to cooperate long enough to slip back on his hoodie, but Ian was still clutching onto his tattered baby blanket like Linus from the Peanuts. Iggy had tried to get shoes on, but his ankles and wrists were so cut up from Ian struggling against his restraints that Ian whined in pain every time the top of the canvas sneaker even touched his ankle and kicked out. So Iggy just shrugged it off. It's not like Ian’s strong enough to be walking anywhere on his own anyways.

They gave Ian some Advil to bring down the fever from withdrawal and some water and crackers as Mickey tenderly rubbed the fifteen-year-old's stomach until it settled and then deemed Ian fit enough to listen while the brothers gave a ten-minute statement. The last thing that the Milkovich brothers needed was to go to jail 

Ian stayed planted on Mickey’s lap all curled up with his head buried in Mickey’s chest as Mickey had resumed his slow ministrations of tracing comfortingly up and down and up again on Ian’s spine. Ian grunted softly in protest everytime Mickey paused these minstrations, so Mickey traced up and down and up and down again and again until his finger tips had a pleasant vibration and warm numbness to them from the friction between his fingertips and the cloth of Ian’s thin sweatshirt.

The three brothers were nearly done giving their statement and they had just moved Ian off Mickey’s lap and onto the chair by himself to help Ian stand up when a blur of white and brunette with a box sprinted up to Ian.

“My sweet sweet orange boy.” Svetlana muttered in Russian, pulling the boy into her arms. Tears sprung down Svetlana’s face as she hugged him so tightly that Colin feared it must have hurt Ian.

“You're safe now. You're safe now. No one will hurt you again orange boy.” she promises in English this time, putting a hand on each of his cheeks.

Ian looks up at Svetlana with shining eyes, “Svet?”

“Yeah, it's me. I'm right here.” Svet promises, kissing each of Ian’s wrists as she knelt down in front of him.

Svetlana scans Ian up and down, “Shoes? Where's his shoes?” 

“He didn't want to put on Converse with the cut on his ankle and he kept kicking.” Colin explains, looking puzzled.

“That would hurt.” Svetlana says, wrinkling her nose like that was obvious, “You put bandaid on first or his Vans so they don't touch his boo-boo.” Svetlana explains, shooting Ian a sympathetic glance.

Svetlana opens the box of clothes and pictures that seemed to be Ian’s. “These are orange boy’s things that I kept for him in my room. Make sure he keeps his white blanket on him, he can't sleep without it.”

Svetlana slips on Ian’s grey worn out Vans, and Colin notes how he doesn't try to kick her like he kicked Colin. Then the Russian kisses both of his knees before burying her head against his legs to cry.

“I'm gonna miss your orange head.” Svetlana tears up.

“Where, where are you goin Svet?” Ian slurs, still mostly out of it.

“My sister in Glen Cove. One with baby who married fancy old rich man on death bed. She’ll take me in.” Svetlana explains.

“Are you, gone, gonna visit?” Ian tries, seeming panicked.

“I will come visit you my sweetheart.” Svetlana promises. She feels his forehead tenderly, “Still so warm. He's sick from the pills leaving his body, but you can't give him more or he’ll get this sick again. Should be fine if you put a cold towel on his neck and good food in his belly.” Svetlana says, poking his stomach. Ian swats her hand away but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips anyway.

“Mick said I could live with him so I don’t have to see Lip or Frank.” Ian says.

“Whose Lip and Frank?” Mickey asks.

“Dad and brother, bad men.” Svetlana sours, standing up and gently running her thumb over Ian’s tattered blanket. The Milkovich brothers are shocked that he let her touch it. 

“Blanket will keep you safe, huh? And you're with good men, men who cared enough to save you.” Svetlana reassures and then says in Russian, “I love you orange boy.”

“I love you too.” Ian speaks back in perfect Russian as well.

“He knows Russian?” Colin gapes in shock.

“Very well. Taught orange boy at night he is a very good student. He can't write it, but he can listen and talk it.” Svetlana explains.

“Orange boy?” Iggy questions curiously.

“He came in as a little boy with orange hair that pervert boss said I share a room with. Now he is like younger brother to me.” Svetlana shrugs. 

She looks at Mickey menacingly, “You take care of him. He doesn't need anymore hurt in his life. You be good boyfriend or I chop you up.” Svetlana warns.

“I'm not his boyfriend.” Mickey stammers.

Svetlana rolls her eyes, “Orange boy is smitten by you. You're his hero and he's still naive enough to believe in silly things like true love. But if he tells me you just rescued him for sex I will be paying a visit.”

“Noted.” Mickey gulps and Iggy snickers.

“He needs lots of hugs to go to bed. He's tall but he's still baby. Still cries for dead mommy at night. Ian doesn't like the dark or sleeping alone. He's been through too much.” Svetlana frets.

Burning hot tears trace down Ian’s face when Svetlana leaves, but he covers his mouth when he cries, apologizing profusely for the noise.

It takes Iggy and Mickey to get Ian situated in the back of the car. The red-head seems content to press his cheek against the blanket and keep his knees curled to his chest. Mickey leaves a hand hovering over Ian’s back, but seems uncertain. So, Iggy nods at him and he rubs Ian’s spine up and down again.

Colin went inside first to make sure that Mandy didn't bombard Ian like he was some kind of puppy from the shelter. Mandy tended to be overbearing and noisy, so Colin wanted her to come into the picture last once Ian was a tad more acclimated to the Milkovich household.

Jess, who was nurse, was working an overnight, but Colin had asked if she could stay with her brother for a night, just until they got Ian, a boy who his brother had practically fallen in love with and rescued, acclimated.

Ian was dirty and bloody, but he didn't smell like anything but strawberries and glitter, so Mickey was unsure if he wanted a shower or not.

“Bath?” he asks Ian, unsure what to do now that he had actually brought the red-head home.

Ian nods, “You stay with me though.”

“I can do that.” Mickey nods. “Can Colin or Iggy help me get you into the bathroom.”

“Don’t care.” Ian mumbles, looking at the floor. His emerald eyes seemed to scan everywhere with a renewed vigor, seemingly impressed by the Milkovich residence.

“Pretty house.” Ian says.

“We gotta get your eyes checked then, carrots.” Mickey retorts.

Iggy helps the two of them into the bathroom while Colin looks for whatever food is going to be the lightest on Ian’s stomach since he was only used to eating nothing or greasy bar food.

For all Ian had been through, he didn't seem shy or bashful like they expected when they undressed him. He wriggled a bit in uncomfortably when his clothes got stuck in awkward or twisted positions, but for the most part he cooperated more than either brother had expected.

He wouldn't let them check his injuries besides the obvious ones. Wasn't completely warmed up to anyone's touch, but at the same time he so clearly craved the safe and gentle touches.

Mickey turned on the bath, and tried to turn on the overhead shower, but Ian said no. He just kept his cheek against the warmth of the faucet.

“Seeking out warmth and comfort.” Iggy had commented.

The blanket had been an issue, but they settled on leaving the tattered old white rag that Ian treasured so much on top of Ian’s clothes, in arms reach and eyesight just in case.

Colin had suggested they wash the thing and Ian had burst into tears at the idea, so it was tabled for the moment, but Colin was still hopeful. 

Iggy took a solo cup and dumped water over Ian’s head and Mickey massaged the shampoo into his hair, the seventeen-year-old smiling slightly and involuntarily when Ian leaned into the contact and closed his eyes in contentment.

Colin knocked on the door, “Can I come in?”

The two younger Milkovich brothers looked to Ian, “Can he?”

Ian shrugs, “His house.”

“I brought a large sweatshirt of Iggy’s, some boxers of Mick’s, some old sweatpants of mine, and some clean socks for you to wear when you get out. Can I wash the clothes that you were wearing?” Colin tries.

Ian squints his eyes suspiciously, “Yes, but not my blanket.”

“Promise, cross my heart. Look here it is, I'll put it right on top of your pajamas, okay?” Colin demonstrates, making sure to leave the blanket in plain sight. That seems to satisfy Ian because he turns his cheek back to lean on the warm faucet.

Iggy drags a washcloth gently and slowly down the side of Ian’s neck and Ian flinches away, both shoulders to his neck looking at Iggy with remnants of panic, leaving the two youngest Milkovich brothers puzzled as to what triggered this.

“What's wrong?” Mickey panics.

Ian just looks at them, squinting his eyes and keeping his shoulders bunched up to his ears, his knees are still pressed to his chest, so you really can't see that much of him.

“Nothing.” Ian says decidedly.

So Iggy tries again on the other side, and Ian squeaks, pressing his back against the back of the bathtub.

“Do you have a bruise or something?” Iggy asks.

“No.” Ian says instantly.

“Is it hurting you, is he pressing too hard?” Mickey tries.

“No.” Ian answers.

And it's Colin who finally gets it while his two younger brothers were left perplexed, kneeling down next to the bathtub, “Hey little prince, was that ticklish? Is that it?”

“No.” Ian lies, his voice raising a pitch and Colin can't help but chuckle at how naive and innocent he seems.

“Liar.” Colin teases, quickly scratching at Ian’s knees, which draws a couple of seconds of quick giggling and squirming from Ian, "Okay. Okayyyy Colin stop." Ian manages.

Colin pats at Ian's cheek, “Thank you for telling me, we’ll all try to be more cautious about that. Take your shower monkey, then let's get some food in your stomach, huh?” Colin says, giving Ian’s hair a quick ruffle before leaving.

Mickey and Iggy make quick work of washing the boy’s top half with water from the cup, and Ian doesn't let the brothers clean his legs, but they figure he's clean enough from sitting in the water.

Mickey can tell the cuts on his ankles and wrist are stinging, so he tells Iggy to help bandage the wounds while Mickey dresses Ian.

When Ian’s done, he sits on top of the toilet in his oversized dark green crew neck with sleeves that were too big, comfy black pants that were too wide for him, and fuzzy white socks.

Iggy combs through Ian’s hair with his fingers after drying his head off with a towel. Then, Iggy just massages Ian’s scalp because he's practically purring at the soothing contact and he's got his green eyes closed again as his head tilts to the one side.

“Feel good, Ian?” Iggy asks.

Ian nods in contentment, slow and gentle breath of air escaping his lips.

“You wanna go eat?” Mickey asks.

Ian shakes his head no, giving a yawn.

“Wanna take a nap?” Mickey asks.

“You come with.” Is Ian’s only response.

Ian is a bit steadier on his feet now, so Mickey can get him to his room by himself, while Ian holds his blanket.

“Lights on.” Ian reminds him, as Mickey helps settle Ian under the dark blue and whit plaid comforter of Mickey’s room.

Ian leans his head to the shoulder that his blanket rests on, and he nuzzles his cheek against the soft white material.

Ian seemed to like it when people pet his head, so Mickey settles into doing that for a few minutes. Then he gets bored, and moves to trace Ian’s lips, nose, and eyelid which all make Ian giggle quite a bit. Mickey caresses the ex-dancer’s cheek with a gentle stroke of his thumb.

“Go to bed, giggles.” Mickey says with an eye roll.

Eventually, his green eyes start to flutter closed, and Mickey gets up to leave.

“Wait no!” Ian cries, suddenly sounding desperate as he bursts into tears, “Please don't leave. Please no. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please don't leave me alone.”

Shit, Svet did say that he doesn't like to sleep alone.

Mickey slips into the bed next to Ian, and Ian rolls onto Mickey’s body without invitation, putting his ear against Mickey’s heart beat.

“You have a pretty sounding heartbeat.” Ian declares.

“Weirdo.” Mickey teases affectionately, hugging Ian closer to him. Ian snuggles in even further, the edges of his baby blanket brushing against Mickey’s face as the blanket stays clutched to the red-head’s chest.

“You're a cuddler huh?” Mickey asks as he traces shapes onto Ian’s back.

“No one usually ever hugs me but Svet, and a lot of nights she can't stay with me because she's not allowed in the basement when I have to sleep down there after she tried to let me out early.” Ian says pathetically.

“I'll give you lots of hugs.” Mickey offers.

Ian nods into Mickey’s chest, “You're a good hugger.” Ian decides.

“Why thank you.” Mickey smiles, twirling a strand of ginger hair.

“My sister wasn't a good hugger.” Ian offers up.

“Which one?” Mickey asks.

“Debbie and Sammi both. Fiona gives good hugs but she was always busy. Liam is too little to judge his hugs, Carl is too squirmy to hug, and Lip is a good hugger when he isn't angry.” Ian babbles on. Mickey just likes hearing his voice, he doesn't particularly care what the words are, but he feels obligated to pay attention.

“When did you last see your family?” Mickey asks.

“Two weeks after my fifteenth birthday.” Ian answers.

“What happened to you Ian?” Mickey blurts out, dying to know.

“My dad beat the shit out of me, like usual just because he was drunk and I was there. My dad always beat me up because I looked like my Bipolar mom who walked out on him too many times to count. My older brother Lip, who was like my best friend was really drunk and he got annoyed when I screamed in pain too much. So he joined in. I begged Fiona, Debbie, Sami, Carl, and even Kev and Vee to stop him, but they just stared at me. And when Frank and Lip were done, they cleaned the blood from his knuckles first. My dad blames me for Monica dying because I found her in the bathroom, she killed herself. Lip was my only friend in the world. I told him I was gay first, and I always went to him with everything. And he turned on me, and they were all afraid of him. I sat on Lip’s bed that night and begged him to love me still. He cracked my ribs, broke my arm, and dislocated my shoulder. And he told me that I'm dramatic. So Sami saw me crying and she told me that I was too good for the horrors of that household. She told me to get out before it ate me alive. I told Lip I was leaving and he didn't even care. So, I stole Lip’s ID and enlisted. I lasted all of a month in the army before the other boys really started ganging up on me, so I cut my bangs, stole a helicopter, and went AWOL. Shit got crazy, they were always trying to control me.” Ian explains, his eyes looking strangely glassy again. Mickey grabs onto Ian’s free hand and intertwines their fingers, bringing their intended hands up together to plant a kiss on each of Ian’s knuckles in reassurance.

“You're warm.” Ian mutters.

“No, you really are the warm one.” Mickey explains.

Mickey feels his forehead and notices how hot it is to the touch, but Ian is still shivering. Mickey attempts to rub the shivers out, but Ian still seems cold and feverish. So Mickey keeps him talking, just to ensure the redhead was alright, not because he was totally interested in the story.

“Why the army?” Mickey asks.

“Always wanted to. Wanted to help.” Ian slurs again, seeming tired. The lights were too bright for Mickey, but Ian seemed comfortable with it.

“So you were GI Joe, and then realized you didn't want to be ordered around in the army? That's like in the description, you're literally going to get ordered around.” Mickey points out.

“Shit got nuts.” Ian shrugs.

“Alright cadet corporal, counting off the candance too hard for you? So sorry tough guy.” Mickey rolls his eyes.

That sends Ian into a fit of giggles. “Hi ho hey, the army’s on its way.” Ian sings.

“Hey silly boy.” Mickey says softly, “How bout you close your eyes.”

“Not yet.” Ian says with an air of finality that left Mickey no room to argue.

“What then?” Mickey whispers, tucking the same strand of hair behind Ian’s ear over and over again which seemed to make Ian melt into his chest even more.

“I couldn't go home, so I got a place by Boystown with a group of other guys and worked at the FairyTale as a bartender. They told me to pack all my things because I was being offered to a new place as a bartender, there would be a pay increase, and I would get my own room. So I walked into Henry’s willingly, not knowing that they had paid the Fairytale for me. I was the newest dancer, so I stayed with Svetlana so she could watch over me and she became really overprotective, and that only gave them more to use against the both of us. As wonderful as love is, it's the heart’s biggest weakness. Svetlana was forced to go table to table and sell all of us out every night. She used to be a prostitute at Sasha’s massage parlor, but they sold her to Henry’s . We weren't allowed to leave, or I would have bounced. They started small, with dances and telling me to satisfy a client extra. Then before you know it I was a regular old whore.” Ian explains, seeming like he had given all there was to give.

“You're not a whore. You're just a kid Ian, you didn't know any better. I'll keep you safe from now on, I promise.” Mickey whispers, fully intending on never letting the red-head out of his sight again.

“Thank you Mick.” Ian says, a sparkle in his eyes that seemed awfully dull for a sparkle.

“You're much more than welcome, Ian.” Mickey kisses the top of Ian’s head, and he continues rubbing Ian’s back, shoulders, arms, and head for a long time after the boy’s breathing has evened out.

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“Everyone likes to say that I saved Ian, but we really saved each other in the end. I don't know where I'd be without you, Ian Milkovich.” Mickey admits, pulling up Ian’s hand to kiss the silver-colored ring on his freckled finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the positive support, I really appreciate each and every comment!
> 
> Any ideas or tropes you want in the next chapter, Im open to recommendations please do be sure to comment them


	5. chapter 5- meeting the milkoviches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/10/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was intended to be much longer and include them taking him to the dentist, doctor, psychiatrist, ect and helping him acclimate two the real world, but I felt like splitting it into two so heres the first "half:"

AN- this story represents an AU where Terry never got the chance to inflict so much damage and the Milkovich siblings were more of a united front against him, so it never got quite as bad as it did in canon. They also supported each other like the Gallagher siblings did in canon.

Chapter 5- Meeting The Milkovichs

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“Does Ian still keep in contact with any of the other dancers from the club?” Mickey reads off, pausing to think for a moment before tapping Ian’s arm as a signal to let his husband know that should answer that question in place of Mickey answering the question.

“Not really, we didn't like exchanging Instagram usernames or anything. A few of them have reached out to me over the years through like FaceBook messenger or now that my name is more out there thanks to this platform that Mick and I are grateful to have, I have been given the chance of a few of them being able to contact me again. But I haven't seen anyone but my friend that we mentioned earlier that was the only girl. Mostly, since it is too painful to see the guys I used to work with to be honest with you all. It just reminds me of a really dark place, but I'm really grateful when they check in and tell me that they are doing okay, but some of them aren't okay. I'm blessed enough to have Mick and his siblings on my side. They really did a lot with me and brought me to psychiatrists, the dentist, the doctor, and Iggy even persuaded me into taking a prep course and getting my GED when I was seventeen years old because I didn't want to go back to school after all of that. Iggy sat with me every day as I sounded out words and tried my best to do basic Algebra. Not all of them got the same opportunities and a safe space to recover from, all that we had been through. And I was the last hired, many of them had been doing this for much longer than me. That kind of lifestyle messes up every aspect of your being. At first you think you're better than everyone else, but eventually it wears you down and down and down until you genuinely believe all the things you're being told. That you're just a whore and you don't even deserve, food, light, or love. But the most important thing to take from this is that everyone deserves those things no matter what anyone else, including yourself tells you.” Ian speaks.

“This lady says that you're very well spoken.” Mickey reads out, “Yes he is. Real chatty cathy.” Mickey rolls his eyes then gets serious, “Good job sweetheart.” Mickey praises as Ian beams.

“I didn't always talk this much, when I first started living with Mickey and his siblings, I really only talked a little only words at a timer and then it was mostly just rambling on to just Mick if I was really tired.” Ian explains.

Mickey brushes a stray hair from Ian’s forehead, “He would put on his pajamas and curl up with me in bed, all snuggles and soft pillow talk. And if he couldn't fall asleep right away, he would tell me stories. From his childhood, the army, the bar, Henry’s, about his mom, his siblings, his niece, or anything really. He would get all soft and whispery and it always made me feel special because he was so quiet. And yet to hear this fifteen year old traumatized kid babbling in my ear about his day as he cuddled up to me with all the trust in the world made me feel like I was a good person because I must have been if Ian trusted me like this. From the very beginning, Ian just innately trusted me, even at the club on the first night we met, he told me his real name and age without even thinking twice.” 

“I could just tell by looking at your eyes. They were blue and so clear, and I just felt like they were the kind of eyes that saw me.” Ian explains.

“Carrots.” Mickey whines, “Stop being so cute and sentimental.”

“But you do have the prettiest eyes, Mick. You're so wonderful. I'm so lucky.” Ian gushes, wiggling around in Mickey’s lap until he's rotated enough to kiss Mickey on the lips in a short and sweet peck.

“Ay aye! Where do you think you're going freckles? Get back here.” Mickey smirks, tilting Ian’s chin and guiding him into a full on kiss that leaves Ian blushing and red-face.

“Awww, Shy Guy over here.” Mickey teases, poking at Ian. “And before someone accuses me of neglect for not saying he's pretty back, I try not to simplify Ian to physical terms because I appreciate and love him for much more than his body, even though he is gorgeous. He knows how much I love him, that's all that matters.”

**Southside, Chicago, 2016:**

For once in his life, Mickey woke up without annoyance. The rain pattering against his window at an ungodly early hour, the light from the ceiling shining directly in his face like a lamp in an interrogation room, the temperature being not right, and even the taste in his mouth from not brushing his teeth the night before didn't annoy him.

Because he woke up with the warm pressure on his chest that held him soothingly in place. Mickey can't help but place a kiss on top of the fluffy hair and run his finger through it. It was starting to bring Mickey comfort as well as Ian.

Mickey’s stirring must have woken up Ian because Ian bolts right up in bed, scrambling off Mickey as his breathing reaches a pitch and he pants like he’ll never get air again.

“Hey, hey, hey. Ian, settle down.” Mickey soothes, reaching a tentative hand out to stroke Ian’s hair like Ian always liked.

“No, no.” Ian squeaks out, flinching scrambling back even further and putting his hands over his ears so tightly that even his wrist starts to strain bright white white effort, his sweatpants covered knees dig into his chest, and his eyes squeeze shut so tight that his ginger eyebrows and thick black eyelashes almost meet.

“Ian, it's Mickey. I'm right here, you're safe.” Mickey reassures him desperately.

“No, no, please don't send me back. I'm sorry, I'll be good.” Ian sobs, rocking back and forth again and again in an effort to soothe himself.

“Look, here's your blanket.” Mickey says, brushing the material against Ian’s cheeks.

“Hey, you're not going back Ian. Ever. This is your home now okay? It's Mickey, ‘member. C'mon, you remember Mick with the blue eyes right? That's what you liked about me when we met right, my eyes.” Mickey tries.

One of Ian’s eyes open experimentally and when he sees Mickey, he bursts into a fresh round of sobs.

“I'm sorry Mick, I'm so sorry. You can send me back, I'm too much work.” Ian cries, rocking again as he holds his blanket.

“Oh, E! Never sending you back. Always gonna want you and be here for you.” Mickey assures him, walking deliberately slowly over to Ian on his knees and giving Ian ample time to flinch away if he was truly uncomfortable with this.

“I'm gonna hug you now, if that's okay with you?” Mickey questions. 

Ian nods ever so slightly and goes easily when Mickey wraps his arms around him and pulls him in tight. “Shhhh, no need to cry love. All is good, I wake up scared too, sometimes. But you're safe here with us, you know that? 

Ian takes a second and nods.

“Alright, sweet boy. I am glad that you know that. Would you like to come get some breakfast with me in the kitchen?” Mickey asks.

“ ‘M not allowed to.” Ian mumbles lowly.

“Not allowed? What? Why not?” Mickey asks in bewilderment.

“ ‘S the rules. I ate yesterday, not allowed ‘gain till Monday.” Ian mutters, avoiding looking at Mickey’s deep blue eyes.

“Who told you that?” Mickey asks, his nails digging into his own pale palms because he already knows the answer.

“He did.” Ian admits.

“And is he here?” Mickey asks pointedly.

“No.” Ian answers, chewing on the inside of his lip.

“Is he coming back?” Mickey asks again.

“No?” Ian questions.

“No. You're never going to have to see his miserable face again if you don't want to.” Mickey promises, “New rules here. You can eat whenever you want. You can watch television whenever you want. You can shower, use the bathroom, change, go to bed, drink, and wear any whatever clothes you want to wear whenever you want.”

“That's a lot of rules.” Ian observes, “Sorry, non-rules.”

“New rule, don't apologize. I'm not gonna do anything if you apologize, but you never have to say that you are sorry again. So let's start small, do you want to keep these clothes on or change?” Mickey asks.

“I don't have any more clothes.” Ian says.

“You can wear anything of mine. Do you wanna wear comfy clothes or day clothes? And whatever you pick, you can change whenever you want.” Mickey makes sure to tell him.

“I like these clothes for now. They're super fuzzy and comfy.” Ian says happily.

“Yeah, so you're cozy right now? I'm glad. Would you like breakfast now?” Mickey questions.

“What do you have?” Ian considers.

“Pancake mix, cereal, oatmeal, and probably some granola bars.” Mickey shrugs.

“Can I have a cigarette and a granola bar, please.” Ian asks politely.

“You smoke?” Mickey asks in surprise.

“Since I was ten years old.” Ian answers.

“Who gives a ten year old a cigarette?” Mickey asks.

“My dad, my brother, my mom, my neighbors, and my dad’s friends.” Ian answers with a shrug.

“Well okay Mr. Connections, you can have one after you eat a little, if that's okay.” Mickey offers.

“ ‘S good by me.” Ian agrees.

“Can we leave your blanket here, so it doesn't get dirty in the bathroom? You can leave it right on my bed and no one will touch it.” Mickey assures him.

Ian thinks for a moment before putting his blanket underneath a sweatshirt in his cardboard box of freshly washed things that Colin had put in Mickey’s room for Ian to access easily. 

After he's done putting his blanket away, Mickey helps Ian to his feet and to the bathroom in Mickey’s room. 

“Can you use my toothbrush?” Mickey asks.

Ian shrugs and looks at the toothbrush Mickey hands him with a raise of his eyebrows and starts very slowly and tentatively brushing his teeth.

“C'mon man.” Mickey urges, not seeing the problem.

“Gonna hurt.” Ian whines, looking small.

“How come?” Mickey softens up.

“Cavity, always hurts my teeth. We didn't have toothbrushes, I would just dip my fingers in water and brush with my finger. Svet says that it's a cavity, but she doesn't wanna pull it because she doesn't know if it's a baby tooth or not, but it's just a back one so what does it matter?” Ian explains.

“Okay, I'll see when I can take you to the dentist at the clinic. Get the cavity filled in for real.” Mickey offers, brushing Ian’s cheek with his finger tips.

“No.” Ian says plainly.

“Huh?” Mickey questions.

“You said I don't have to do anything that I don't want to do. No dentist.” Ian says firmly.

“How come?” Mickey asks.

“Scary. No dentist.” is all the answer Ian will give.

Mickey brushes his own teeth while Ian uses the toilet and Mickey turns away to give him some sense of modesty and privacy, two things that had been stripped away from the boy when he had been sol into his previous life.

“C'mon, are you ready for breakfast?” Mickey asks. Ian just nods, looking far off and stuck in his own head.

Upon entering the kitchen, Mickey sees Iggy parked at the dining room table, headphones in as he pours over a textbook, scribbling notes on a piece of loose leaf next to him. If Mickey’s dad was here he would say that the table is for guns, psychology is a waste of time, and college is for pussies. But now that he's gone, Iggy really has flourished and become confident in that path that he is on.

Mandy is on the couch, eating cereal from the bowl as “American Horror Story” plays on full blast. Mandy has become less afraid. She stopped locking her door and started wearing whatever she wanted in the house. No longer afraid her dad would make a pass at her. Thankfully, her older brothers always stepped in before something happened, but it didn't make it any better. But now, she was flourishing in her new-found independence.

Colin stands at the stove, idly flipping a pancake as he hums to himself. The only lights that's on are in the kitchen. The blinds are drawn shut and the lights in the living room and hallway are dark, casting the whole of the Milkovich common room into a movie-theater-esque darkness. Colin got to show his sifter side since his dad went away. He didn't have to pretend to like he enjoyed drug runs and violence.

With Terry Milkovich in jail, the siblings didn't have to pretend to enjoy their dad's interests or be anyone but themselves. They've had ample time to heal and support each other through healing, But Ian? He never was afforded the chance to heal from his childhood, because his innocence was stolen from him.

Ian stumbles a little and grabs Mickey’s tattooed hand to steady himself. So Mickey just threads his hand in Ian’s to help steady the groggy boy’s half-awake shuffling.

“Hey little prince, how did you sleep?” Colin cheers.

“Oh my god, Ian! Hi, I'm Mandy!” Mandy gushes, jumping to her feet. Ian’s eyes sweep in her direction and flinches, moving slightly closer to Mickey when he sees the theme somg of the eighth episode of Murder House on the television.

“Mandy, turn that off it's too creepy for this early on a Sunday.” Iggy commands.

“Why? I always watch AHS on Sunday mornings.” Mandy whines.

“Mandy.” Colin warns, pointedly glancing at Ian’s uneasiness.

“Oh shit, sorry Ian.” Mandy apologizes quickly.

“Shhh, don't pay attention to this shit, ginge. Let's get you your granola bar, okay? You can sit next to Iggy if you want.” Mickey soothes.

“It's okay, Svet would put it on the television in the bar during the day and everyone would watch it. I just don't like theme songs, they're creepy.” Ian says, mostly to Mickey.

“Jess is going to come to look at your boo-boos, tomorrow okay? But for today, can I look, just to make sure there's nothing super serious?” Colin says as he gives Ian a granola bar and helps him sit down, across from Iggy and next to Mickey.

“Whose Jess?” Ian asks shyly, not meeting Colin’s eye.

“My girlfriend. She lives here sometimes and with her brother sometimes. She's a nurse and her brother has a tattoo shop that Mickey is a receptionist at.” Colin explains.

“Do you want to eat on the couch? Mandy changed the channel.” Mickey asks as he fixes himself cereal. 

“That's perfect and we can check your boo-boos on the couch too.” Colin coos, a little too juvenile and patronizingly for Ian, so Ian shoots Mickey a pointed eye roll of his shamrock green eyes and Mickey just smirks.

“Sure.” Ian mutters in the same shy tone.

Mickey helps Ian sit on the couch next to Mandy, and Mandy takes that as her opportunity to attack.

“Oh my god, Ian you're so cute.” She squeals, wrapping him in a hug. Ian sits there stiffly at first, squirming a bit in the strong and unexpected embrace, but eventually he gives in when he feels Mickey squeeze his shoulder protectively.

When Ian finally gives in and melts into the embrace, Mandy exclaims, “You're too cute! And a complete teddy bear.”

Ian blushes shyly, and scoots closer to Mickey.

“Oh my god, you're such a cutie pie. Look at all these freckles on your sweet cheeks.” Mandy pinches his cheeks, “Look he's blushing.”

“Alright hands off. He's the skin tone of a vampire he blushes at the wind.” Mickey says batting Mandy away. Ian sits next to Mickey, but settles his head on Mickey’s chest as he tentatively takes tiny bites if the granola bar like someone is going to catch him eating.

Colin walks over. “Can we look at your boo-boos now?” Colin asks.

Ian looks up at Mickey for approval, seeming conflicted.

“Yeah, it's okay. You can let them if you want to. It's okay, they are safe.” Mickey promises.

“Here, Mandy get up. Ian, you wanna lay back on the couch so you can stretch out?” Colin offers.

Ian looks hesitant, but Mickey nods in confirmation, so Ian lays horizontally across the couch with his head in Mickey’s lap without protest.

Colin carefully pulls Ian’s shirt up a little.

“Aww is this a burn, little prince?” Colin coos, fingering a burn over Ian’s heart.

“Cigarette.” Ian mutters, squirming a bit.

“I'm so sorry about that munchkin.” Colin says, stroking Ian’s hair until he smiles. “Such a pretty smile!” Colin beams.

“Lotta bruises.” Mickey comments as Colin tests the pressure on a couple. Ian can't help but wiggle away from Colin’s fingers, kicking and rolling a bit.

“Stay still sweetheart.” Colin chides and Ian settles, still looking pale as anything.

Colin goes over Ian’s torso, noting injuries and making comments while Ian tries his best to keep still.

“C’mon little prince, you have to stay still for another few minutes okay. I know it's uncomfy, and I'm sorry.” Colin apologizes. Ian tries his best to keep still but he's beginning to panic a bit at the attention to all these traumatic details.

“How'd you get this cut here it looks pretty rough? That might need some antibiotics.” Colin comments, tracing the green cut next to Ian’s belly button.

Ian shivers and bucks his hips a little before settling down and looking embarrassed. He catches Mickey’s eyes pleadingly, but Mickey doesn't know what he's pleading for so he just combs through Ian’s hair with his fingers.

“I don't think he likes this. Check somewhere else.” Mickey comments.

“Does he have any cuts on his back?” Colin asks.

“Dunno, he's right here, ask him.” Mickey snarks.

“Here, Mick. Get up so he can roll over.” Colin instructs. Mickey slides Ian’s head off of his lap and Ian whines softly at the loss of contact. 

“You take his shirt off, and I'll hold him.” Colin says. Now Mickey thinks he means hold him like hug him, and Colin means hold him like pin his arms down so Ian doesn't involuntarily fight them on this.

Colin sits on Ian’s side and holds his arms in place above his head. The second he does that, Ian freaks out before Mickey can even voice his protests.

“No!” Ian panics as Iggy stands up and rushes over.

“Don't pin me. Don't pin me. Don't pin me. I'll be good. I'll be good.” Ian cries hysterically as Colin’s mouth opens in bewilderment.

“Jesus christ, shove over before you trigger him any further!” Iggy booms, shoving Colin off of Ian. 

Ian is currently rocking back and forth slowly with his knees to his chest and his arms crossed over them. Iggy noticed the way that Ian rubs his own arms up and down with his fingertips in an effort to self-soothe.

“Okay little buddy.” Iggy says, moving on the couch next to Ian while everyone else takes a step back, “I'm gonna have Mick go get your blanket quick.”

Mickey dashes away to do so at record speed.

Iggy pulls Ian, still curled up into a ball, onto his lap and puts his arms around him the way that you would put your arms around a toddler who was like this.

“Okay little buddy. You just wanna be held right? Just wanna be safe right? You are safe here.” Iggy tells him, cuddling the trembling boy to his chest.

“I'm so sorry, I had no idea it would upset him or I never would have done that. I didn't think.” Colin stammers.

Iggy just shoots Colin a look. 

“You're safe. You are safe here.” Iggy promises, gently rocking back and forth like a baby a bit to match the way that Ian was before.

“The rocking stops the spinning in your head when it gets too big for you to handle, right?” Iggy asks.

Ian nods looking greener by the second. 

“Look Mick brought your blanket.” Iggy tells him, taking the blanket from Mickey and placing it in Ian’s arms.

Iggy rocks him for a couple more minutes before asking, “Who taught you to rub your arms like that to self-soothe?” 

“Svetlana did. She says it will help calm me down when I’m sleeping alone in the basement or when I can't see because I have a blindfold on. But it doesn't work when my hands are in handcuffs because Henry spreads the handcuffs out so my hands don't touch each other.” Ian says.

“Well she is very smart. That probably helped you a lot.” Iggy observes.

Iggy picks up Ian’s one pale wrist and looks at the ring shaped cuts radiating the whole of his wrist, “You never went down without a fight though, I can tell. You're so strong and such a fighter.” 

“No ‘m not.” Ian mumbles.

“Yes you are.” Iggy assures him.

Ian's green eyes start to flutter closed and he yawns.

“Go take a nap with Mickey, you can even stay on the couch if you want.” Iggy promises.

“‘M not tired.” Ian whines, “I just woke up.”

“Your body is tired though. You have safe sleep here. Safe sleep is different from the paranoid sleep you got at the club only out of necessity. Safe sleep recharges your batteries and paranoid sleep just keeps the batteries from dying. You need to catch up on some sleep.” Iggy tells him.

“It's too dark and I don't wanna make you turn the lights on all the time.” Ian says timidly.

“Here, Mands get my phone.” Iggy instructs as he shifts Ian off of his lap and onto the couch next to him.

“Mandy and Colin, can you guys give some space.” Iggy asks and they both oblige instantly.

“Here, look you see this app? You click on it and set a timer. Then it changes colors slowly for however long you set the timer for. It's super bright without waking anyone else up. I use it sometimes too just to have something to look at when I fall asleep. You can have my phone to nap and Mick will put the app on his phone too so you don't have to feel guilty about keeping the lights on.” Iggy explains.

“Do you wanna nap here or in my room?” Mickey asks.

“Here.” Ian decides.

“Okay.” Mick nods, “Do you wanna put your head on my lap again or do you want me to hold you?” 

“Lap.” Ian tells him pulling Iggy's phone closer to him so he can see the colors flash.

“Okay.” Mick obliges, letting Ian lay down on him as Iggy pulls a blanket over Ian’s body and moves to join Colin and Mandy in the kitchen. 

Ian’s head slots on Mickey’s lap and Ian clutches his blanket to his chest as Mickey combed through his hair, scratching at his ears.

“Don’ do that.” Ian slurs, forgetting the “T” in don't. 

“How come.” 

“Too light.” Ian answers.

“Okay buddy.” Mickey chuckles, carding through Ian’s hair until his breathing evens out.

Iggy comes out with Colin and Mandy in tow.

“He needs to see a psychiatrist. You can go with him Mick, but he needs to go. Not fair to have him suffer through these things.” Iggy tells them.

“Isn't he just a scared kid?” Colin questions.

“No Colin, he was beaten, assaulted, and forced to sell himself out. He's traumatized. I can't just teach you Ginger101 and it all will be good. My professors all live stream my classes, and I usually take them at home anyways, so I can stay home with him. I can help him as much as I can, but he's gonna need more too.” Iggy explains.

“I feel so bad for him, he's just a kid.” Mandy frets.

“Don't treat him like a kid. His childhood was ripped away from him.” Iggy comments bitterly. 

“He's touch starved and just wants to be held and cuddled, but he's also so skittish and traumatized that you have to put in effort to find the right balance. He's not just a teddy bear. He clearly has an trained aversion to eating all he's eaten is half of a granola bar and he was conditioned not to want more. Don't comment on his weight or call him skinny or say he's gained weight. Just avoid that all together. When Ian says no, that means no, Most of the time, if you notice, he doesn't say no until he's already freaking out so you have to watch him carefully for triggers. He doesn't like being held down and he goes into sensory overload quickly and it makes his head spin. Don't ever take his blanket away, he needs that. He's a good kid, super giggly and happy when he's happy. He's very sweet and observant of things surrounding him and people’s emotions and reactions. He loves hugs and he smiles like sunshine, but he's so traumatized and he's in a brand new environment, you have to give him time to heal.” Iggy lectures.

“He needs the dentist too and a physical. He has a cavity that's so bad he flinches brushing his teeth, but he's afraid of the dentist.” Mickey blurts out.

“Okay, I'll take him to the dentist because that's not gonna be pretty, Mick you take him to the psychiatrist because he’ll need you the most there, and Colin ask Jess if we can get an appointment for him at Jess’s job so he’ll know the nurse and she can warn the doctor ahead of time.” Iggy figures out.

“Okay.” Colin nods, ruffling Ian’s hair before walking out, “He's such a good kid.” Colin mumbles sadly.

“Yeah.” they all concur.

  
  


**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“When Ian first came to live with us, it took a long time for him to realize that he wasn't going to get sent back ever. It was heartbreaking. I promised him he’d never see Henry again, but I didn't know that that promise was one I couldn't keep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think- always open to any suggestions or prompts to help better this story!


	6. chapter 6- meeting the milkoviches part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/13/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter "Sweet f*cking sixteen" and then "meeting the milkoviches- the reprise"

Chapter 7- Three days of healing

A/N- in this AU, Sammy comes early and she does turn in Carl, but right after Ian leaves so he has no perception of how bad Sammy is, or how she doesn't leave there anymore because she moved out after Chuckie went to jail. Also, Ian is Frank’s because I just feel like he should be.

I feel like Mandy comes off as selfish and whiny in this chapter, but she is only sixteen and she's not at the same mental capacity to take care of Ian as Iggy and Colin are.

Also; linking a list of songs to listen to while reading this fic because I always listen to music and read; open to suggestions- 

So far we have A-Team by Ed Sheeran, 

Body by Jordan Suarez (excuse me if that's not the right spelling, I'm too lazy to search for it right now), 

skinny love by Birdy, 

Closer by Kyle Neal

and We don't have to take off clothes off by Elle Eyre.

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“Does Ian get more cuddly when he's sick?” Mickey reads off with a snort, “Weird question, but no Ian just gets downright and utterly pathetic. When it rains with Ian, it always pours with him. It's never just like a simple fucking cold, he's always gotta go full out and get a rediculously high fevers and those dramatic chills that shake his whole body.” Mickey teases, shaking Ian’s shoulders for effect.

“Hey!” Ian protests weakly.

“I usually take off of work when he's sick, just because all he does is lay on my chest like he's dying and sob all pathetically and sadly. It's honestly hard to watch. He always cuddles and we do our five minutes before bed where we shut off our phones and talk about our day, but when he's sick he won't even do talk before bed. He just lays there absolutely miserably, shivering and all feverish and groggy. And he only wants me. My siblings always beg to take care of him when he's sick because he's so cute, but he won't fully settle unless I'm there when he's sick. Like literally has to call me before a nap. ” Mickey adds.

“Okay, but like you're not any better when you're sick, and I'm sorry I'm prone to ridiculously high fevers, but it's not exactly in my control or my fault that my immune system is a complete joke.” Ian protests.

“When I get sick, I'm just extra grumpy and boss you around with less manners than usual. You just wanna use me as a full body pillow like a pregnant lady.” Mickey retorts.

“Because your arms are safe.” Ian shrugs.

“Iannnnn, stop being so cute when I'm trying to pick on you.” Mickey groans.

“Then stop picking on me you jerk.” Ian fires back.

“Mush.” Mickey retorts instantly.

“Jerk.” Ian responds with a smirk.

“Alright tough guy, settle down.” Mickey says, raising one eyebrow. That gesture sets Ian off giggling.

“Okay, stop doing that.” Ian laughs.

“Doing what?” Mickey asks innocently.

“The thing with your eyebrows, you know that's funny.” Ian says through another hysterical laugh.

“My eyebrows are their own entity, Firecrotch. Ian, chill you pill. Alright whatever. Alright he caught a major case of the giggles, fucking nerd, so I'm just gonna leave him be. Let's see if anything else interesting comes up. Ooo, this ones about nicknames. Freckles, focus. C’mon, the people wanna know what nicknames you call me. What nicknames do you have for me?” Mickey asks, pointing Ian’s chin to Mickey’s eyeline, and waiting patiently until he settles down.

“Mick?” Ian tries, sounding unsure.

“Don't be so unsure of yourself. Try to think of more, there's a couple more that you always call me.” Mickey prompts, stroking Ian’s cheek.

“You'd probably kill me if I said Mickey Mouse right?” Ian asks.

“In cold blood, lover boy.” Mickey confirms with a serious nod.

“I like my blood warm, thank you very much, so scratch that.” Ian says.

“Okay, think angel.” Mickey tries again, not wanting Ian to get flustered and feel embarrassed.

“Babe. I call you that even though you say it sounds like the pig from the movie that Franny likes to watch. Tough guy, I call you that and you call me that too. Hero, because you are my hero. Pretty, I call you just pretty sometimes. Love. Muffin sometimes even if you say it makes no sense. I, I can't think of any more Mick, I'm sorry.” Ian screws his face up in frustration.

“Shh, you did plenty. That pretty pink stuff between your ears is smarter than you ever give yourself credit for. I give everyone nicknames, so naturally I have a few more. But I will always love everything you call me, sunshine.” Mickey promises, rubbing at Ian’s temple.

“Sometimes he gets a little insecure.” Mickey explains, “We've been through a lot together to get to this point that we are at, but I've always had him by my side, and he's always had me by his side, and he always will.” Mickey states.

“You'll always have me, Mick.” Ian promises, “Had me from the moment we met.”

**Southside, Chicago, 2016:**

“You sure that you are okay staying with Iggy tomorrow, he's not going to leave you alone. He’ll be with you all day long. I'll be home at like two-thirty-ish, maybe earlier if I ditch last.” Mickey frets.

“You do know that I am nearly sixteen years old, right?” Ian points out, unamused as he sits on Mickey’s bed in a pair of pajama pants from Iggy and a t-shirt of Colin’s. The siblings had called it a rainy movie day, and they enjoyed watching television as a pseudo-family with a certain new red-headed addition to the Milkovich clan. 

They were able to persuade Ian into eating a singular slice of leftover Pizza Hut pizza for lunch, and a cup of beef-flavored-Ramen for dinner. Mandy found that Ian likes the lemon-lime Gatorades, so she went out and got him a couple of them once he drank the only one in the house. His electrolytes probably did need to be replenished, Mandy had thought. Colin piled together a couple of items from his closet, Iggy’s closet, Mickey’s closet, and even Mandy’s closet for some socks. All items that any of the Milkovich siblings didn't really wear anymore. Colin then dumped out a clear storage bin and condensed Ian’s two cardboard boxes, the clothes they had given him, a toothbrush, and deodorant that Iggy had bought for him into the bin so he wasn't just staring at cardboard boxes. This was a bit more permanent. Mandy had colored out the “KITCHEN” label in sharpie, and then wrote “Ian” on the top in swirly cursive. 

Mickey had offered Ian a couple drawers and half of his closet, but Ian liked all of his stuff in one place so he had easy access to it if he needed to leave quick, and Mickey wasn't going to try to change every habit of Ian’s that was formed out of the need for survival in one night. Ian always liked an escape plan, even if he knew that he woulndt have to escape.

Mickey had gotten Ian to take a bath again, not because he needed it more because Mickey, at the warning of Iggy, wanted to build up a daily routine for Ian to follow along with. 

“Nearly being the chief and operative phrase in that sentence, red.” Mickey reminds him.

“Whatever.” Ian shrugs, sitting on the bed and letting out a tiny yawn as he stretches his arms to the sky.

“Go to bed E.” Mickey says softly.

“Not yet.” Ian panics, only slightly.

“Why not?” Mickey asks.

“You first, wanna lay on you.” Ian pleads.

“Okay, that's fine. Would you wanna lay on your side instead and we can spoon?” Mickey asks.

“No, just hold me like normal.” Ian begs again.

“Ian, I'll hold you no problem, I'm just curious why you only sleep on my chest.” Mickey says.

“Easiest to get away if I need to while still being held.” Ian admits.

Mickey nods sadly. “Okay, I hope you know that there is never going to be anything that you need to get away from here, but I hear that and respect it, okay.” Mickey brushes hair off of Ian’s forehead.

Ian falls asleep that night listening to Mickey’s heartbeat, with his blanket on his cheek, and watching the night light app on Mickey’s phone change colors. Mickey falls asleep with his nose buried in his favorite red hair that weirdly enough, smells like strawberries.

Mickey had slept with the blinds open on purpose so that the two of them could wake up to the sun shining in their faces, and hopefully it would mitigate Ian’s morning panic that he had experienced the previous morning.

He still struggled to get his surroundings a bit, but Ian had done much better this morning. They brushed their teeth together and got dressed at the same time to help contribute to establishing some semblance of a routine. 

Ian was always quieter in the morning, Mickey had noticed. Fast to wake, and slow to acclimate to the world around him. 

“Is Ian going to school too?” Mandy asked over breakfast.

“Fuck no, I'd still be a freshman, and plus I formally dropped out already I can't just re-enroll.” Ian responds bitterly.

“He’ll get his GED.” Colin concludes.

Ian raises his eyebrows at him challengingly, “Will I now?”

“Hey, little prince, don't be stubborn. You don't have to now, but eventually you do, otherwise what will you do for the rest of your life?” Colin frets.

“Well, if all else fails, I can always go back to the strip club.” Ian spits, clearly not in the mood. That shuts that conversation right up. Iggy called it, deflection. Mickey called it sad that Ian had absolutely no semblance of a plan for the future because three days ago, he didn't think that he'd be living much longer. Mickey doubts that the red-head ever thought that he would see his sixteenth birthday.

“Ian, on Wednesday you have a dentist appointment.” Iggy says, opting for a change of subject.

“No I don't.” Ian responds petulantly.

“Yes, you do have one, it's at 11:30. I found a clinic-based one that will give you IV sedation or a novacaine one if you want it, but you are going Ian. We’re not going to force you to do anything else, but the things that are for your own good.” Iggy says.

“Tchhh,” Ian grumbles.

“Sorry, monkey. On Thursday I don't have work, so taking you to the doctor for a physical at the pediatrician my girlfriend Jess works at. She was able to convince a doctor she works with 54to do it pro-bono. He won't even touch you, only she will and she’ll only touch you when you are comfortable with it. He’ll oversee, and I'll be with you the entire time. Jess is coming back tonight, so you’ll have time to get acclimated by Thursday.” Colin concludes.

“A physical? I haven't had one since I was like eight.” Ian responds.

“Well, it's high-time.” Mickey adds. “On Friday, after school, you and I are taking the train to the Northside, and we’re seeing a psychiatrist.”

“Do I have a choice?” Ian asks.

“Always do, but these three things are for your health and comfort. You don't want that tooth to hurt anymore, right?” Iggy reasons.

“Okay, fine.” Ian finally caves.

\--------------------------------

Monday and Tuesday, the Milkovich siblings begin to settle into the rhythm of adding a traumatized fifteen-year-old boy into the mix. Ian didn't express any interest in going to any public places or really leaving the house, but he has appointments booked for Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and he is just starting to feel like this is his safe place, so the siblings don't even bother to push it. 

Mandy uses Ian like a teddy bear. She pulls him into her room to snuggle and read magazines about Justin Timberlake. She braids his hair and even goes as far as throwing different outfits at him to try on. She may have come on strong at first, but by Tuesday night Ian was completely used to her and even let her draw on his ankles with a pen as she held his legs in her lap while he read a book.

At first, when Jess walked in and saw Ian sitting on Iggy’s lap, she said, “They are so cute, you're right Col. They're adorable.” Colin had neglected to explain which brother was smitten with Ian. that led to some awkwardness and jealousy from Mick, but Ian was cuddly to everyone so it really was no big deal. He warmed up to Jess fast and they even did some “30-minute-ab” esque workout videos on the television together. She even got him to try a yoga video, but he drew the line at meditation and her trying to smother him in essential oils. Iggy was so proud of Ian for expressing a boundary.

Colin had become Ian’s “big-person” because brother didn't feel right, but neither did guardian or role model. Ian had a complicated relationship with brothers, specifically older ones, so he really didn't want to label it such. But Colin did his very best to make Ian feel safe and cared for. He tried to stop at the Dollar Tree and pick Ian out some of his own stuff to keep in his storage bin. And soon enough Ian’s shampoo was in the shower, Ian’s toothbrush was in the shower, Ian’s jacket was on the hook by the door, Ian’s pillow on Mickey’s bed, Ian’s hairbrush was on the door, and they couldn't be any happier with the development in the increasing amount of “Ian” that could be found throughout the house. Colin just wanted Ian to feel like he belonged somewhere.

Iggy had become a sort of therapist friend to Ian, even though they never really spoke words. Iggy had compiled his notes on childhood trauma, Goggled “sensory games for traumatized kids”, observed Ian, and he was beginning to nudge Ian in certain directions and pick up on his triggers much faster. He wasn't exactly “therapizing” him, but he wasn't not. Mickey would come home to find them sitting on the couch criss-cross-applesauce-style across from each other as Iggy played games with him that Mickey remembers from childhood like “four big boulders, one tiny rock”, “concentration”, that game where you slide your index finger up somebody’s arm while they have their eyes closed and they try to guess when the finger hits the crease of their elbow, and drawing on his back. Mickey was confused at first, but Iggy said that he's building up Ian’s tolerance for gentle or unexpected touch, and working towards him not jumping a mile high whenever something touches him when his eyes are closed. Mickey didn't find it manipulative, but he didn't find it endearing either.

But then Iggy had suggested some to him, because Ian was still much closer to Mickey than any other sibling. He trusted him much more, intrinsically through no fault of anyone, but Mickey being Ian’s hero and confidant. Iggy suggests making a game out of what Ian’s afraid of. That's what you do when you are a kid, but Ian’s childhood wasn't the kind that made him feel safe and secure and develop healthy anything. So Mickey would hug Ian and put a hand over his eyes, and see how many seconds Ian could go without seeing the light, but being enveloped in a warm hug while Mickey spoke to him. Or they would have something that seems juvenile to Mickey, like a tickle fight. Mickey would pin Ian’s arms down lightly while tickling him, just barely in a way that Ian could still escape if he really needed to, so Ian starts to get used to it while he's more relaxed and laughing and not freaking out like he was with Colin. They even play hide and seek together to help ease into the fear of being alone. The goal was just to make him feel safe and establish trust and security. The second Ian said “no” or “stop” Mickey would stop and not continue. This taught Ian that his words had power and his consent mattered, while mitigating his habit of whining “no” or “stop” colloquially and casually when he didn't really mean it, thus strengthening the word and its power. Iggy also said that it's important to let Ian always have a turn in whatever they were doing so that he a) didn't feel experimented on and b) saw that other people have boundaries too and didn't feel like a baby for tapping out of things.

Nightmares. Ian has a nightmare every night now. He realized quickly that Mickey gets really grumpy if he doesn't get enough sleep on a school night, so Ian has settled into rolling out of bed quietly so he doesn't disturb Mickey. Mickey never said not to wake him up, but Ian felt terrible taking away sleep from him when he clearly needed it. Ian didn't feel comfortable going to Colin because he was embarrassed to tell Jess that he had a nightmare. He tried to get Mandy to comfort him, but Mandy only really wanted Ian if he wanted to just be cuddly after a nightmare. If he was going to cry and hyper-ventilate noisily for extended periods of time, and not just lay in her arms, then she didn't want him there. So Ian traveled to the last door, blanket in tow and tears down his face. Iggy didn't care that he was being woken up, or if Ian wouldn't settle right away- he just would sit with Ian until Ian was calm and sleepy again. Talk if Ian wanted to talk. Then Iggy would lead Ian back to Iggy’s room and tuck him back in next to Mickey, because the two of them slept better next to each other. Everyone in the house none the wiser.

\-----------------------------

DAY 1- THE DENTIST

“Ian you don't have a fever.” Iggy reminded Ian for the fourteenth time as Iggy laced up his own tan boots and slipped in a dark-wash denim jacket over his white t-shirt.

“I'm sick, Iggy. I don't want to go.” Ian whines, sitting petulantly by the door in his green beanie, black jeans of Colin’s, and one of Mickey’s tan flannels. 

“Ian, you practically scream in pain every time you brush your teeth.” Iggy reminds him, “If you truly do not want to go, I will not force you, but this is for your own good and comfort level.”

“Iggy, I just… I can't, it's just too hard.” Ian stutters, getting all flustered and teary eyed.

“What was his name?” Iggy asks, the realization dawning on him..

“Who?” Ian parrots, unsure.

“The name of the dentist who hurt you.” Iggy responds.

“Wasn't an actual dentist, just a pervert.” Ian mutters, avoiding eye contact.

“What was he?” Iggy asks, keeping a poker face.

“A client. He was a regular for a while. He would bring a dental kit with him and poke around inside of my mouth. It got him off. Then he would pretend to clean my teeth with his, his.” Ian let's his sentence skid to a halt in the middle.

“His semen?” Iggy supplies the medically correct term.

“Yeah and Henry told him to keep the blindfold on me because I like it.” Ian admits.

“Okay.” Iggy nods, “I booked you an older female dentist, and I'll be there the whole time. I'm serious Ian, they can knock you out for this and I'll never ask you to go to the dentist again.”

“No, no I want to stay aware. Please.” Ian begs.

“Okay buddy, whatever you want. ‘S your body and you are in control of it.” Iggy promises.

The dentist was a bit of a full blown natural disaster. The staff were all trained in pediatrics and passed no judgement, but Iggy had warned them that this would be an unusually difficult visit for someone Ian’s age. It took about an hour and a half more than it should have because Ian had a quasi-panic attack and hyperventilation crying every other minute, and Iggy would have to calm Ian down while the hygienists and dentist stepped off of Ian. Iggy had briefly diverged into Ian’s trauma without exposing too many details, but just enough that they understood he was a victim of SA and had specific trauma with dentists, but didn't want to be sedated.

Originally, Iggy started out in the chair next to the dental chair, just rubbing Ian’s knee while he sat there, as the hygienist brushed his teeth with water. It was looking good and Ian was even beginning to relax. His teeth weren't in perfect condition, but given the circumstances the amount of plaque and damage were all deemed normal. 

Ian was thinking maybe he overreacted after all. That was until the hygienist brought out the metal tools. The hooks that scraped your teeth and gums and the fluoride drill that buzzed your teeth.The buzzing and scraping really set Ian off and soon enough he was scrambling for breath and Iggy was left frantically attempting to massage Ian’s shoulder, make him drink water, and soothe him with quick whispers of reassurance. 

Iggy wound up sitting by Ian’s copper-colored-head, stroking his hair as Ian strained to control the shaking of his hyper-ventaliating sobs while crying “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad, I'm trying to be good I swear.”

No one in the room had the heart to be anything but sorry for him after seeing how clear it was that the fifteen-year-old was trying so hard not to be difficult. He was clenching his abs painfully tight so that the spasming hiccuping sobs didn't wrack his body. The cavity was so deep and really freakin close to a nerve. So close, that it was a border-line route canal. The dentist was surprised at how long Ian had gone with this in his mouth, as it must have been ridiculously painful.

Once they were outside of the dentist office and on the sidewalk, bustling with people, Ian just sunk to his knees against the grey brick of the dentist’s office and cried with his knees hugged to his chest in fetal position. Iggy gave anyone who even looked at the boy weirdly, a threatening death glare and just resumes gently rubbing Ian’s knee while telling the boy how proud he was of him for putting in so much effort, and reminding him how much better he will feel now that he no longer has a deep and excruciatingly painful cavity in his mouth.

When Ian finally cried himself out and his face was the same shade of red as his hair with unnecessary embarrassment, he let Iggy drag him to the “El”, but he started flinching everytime Iggy even brushed against him. On the El he just stared out the smudged window forlornly and refused to talk to anyone and it broke Iggy’s heart quite a bit.

Iggy had asked Ian for permission several times to tell just Mickey the story about Ian’s old client and he made sure to tell Mickey in front of Ian, while no one else was around.

After hearing that, Mickey just nodded gravely and grabbed Ian’s soft and pale hand, leading him to the bedroom. He tucked Ian into bed, expecting him to cry, but Ian didn't cry he just stared at the wall. Turned on his side with his baby blanket clutched to his chest, curled up in a wall; exactly back at square one.

“Can I get you anything?” Mickey asks.

“Cigarette.” Ian mumbles. Mickey gets him a cigarette, smoking advertisements be damned. 

So Mickey and Ian smoke together in bed, Ian looking tired and worn-out. Jesus christ, Mickey thought, this is only day one out of three of these appointments.

“Hey Ian.” Mickey starts.

“Yeah Mick.” Ian answers.

“Do you ever miss your siblings?” Mickey asks.

“Yeah, sometimes I do for sure.” Ian admits.

“Would you want to call them ever? If you do let me know and you can have my phone, okay?” Mickey assures him.

“Thanks Mick, but I don't want to. Too much to explain to the younger ones, too much pity and resentment with the older ones.” Ian explains.

“How many are there again?” Mickey asks.

“Liam is two, Carl is nine, Debbie is eleven, I'm fifteen, Lip is seventeen, Fiona is twenty one, Sammy is twenty-five, and her son, Chuckie, is seven.” Ian explains.

“Oh wow. Sammy is the half-one, right?” Mickey asks.

“Yeah, we have different moms.” Ian explains.

“Do you want to talk about your mom?” Mickey asks.

“No.” Ian says firmly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the ash-tray next to the bed and curling back up in the blankets. 

All of the siblings tried to get Ian to come down for dinner, but he didn't want to. Asked to be left alone to take a nap, which is a first, but Mickey also tackles that as a victory because he feels safe enough to sleep on his own in their now-shared bed.

After dinner, Mickey slips into bed with Ian, and they fall asleep together, already not being able to sleep well apart.

\---------------------------------------------------------

DAY TWO- THE DOCTOR

“You're so precious, Ian.” Colin coos, ruffling Ian’s hair as he came out of Mickey’s bedroom dressed for the doctor’s office.

Ian looked puzzled. Ever since Iggy had said to use more words of affirmation around Ian, Colin had just dumped on well-intentioned but awkwardly placed comments of weird praise, as he didn't exactly know what words of affirmation meant.

“Umm, thank you?” Ian responds with a tilt of his head.

“You're so welcome, little prince! Now let's go to the El, we’re meeting Jess there!” Colin exclaims. Ian didn't know where this enthusiasm was coming from, but he figured what the fuck, he may as well embrace Colin’s whatever-the-fuck this was.

On the train, Colin makes sure to tell Ian no less than five times how proud of him he is for taking the train and how lovely his eyes are. Ian is begging to think that Colin may have a fever, or maybe he's just delusional. He considers texting Mickey off of Colin’s phone, but that doesn't feel right.

The second that they get in the exam room, Colin starts showering Ian with head pats and hugs. By this point Ian is slightly suspicious of what the fuck Colin is up to, but he doesn't think that much of it.

“Hi Ian!” Jess greets him warmly as she steps inside of the exam room and closes the door. She explains how she is leaving him with a paper robe to change into and how he will be able to keep every part but where Jess is examining uncovered. And after they are done with an area, Ian can put back on that article of clothing, since they’ll be working from head to toe.

The doctor is going to be Dr. Jennings, an older man, who Jess assures is a sweetheart, but Colin is worried that he will remind Ian of his previous clientele.

Ian starts to look nervous and even paler then the white paper robe that he's wearing as he sits on the exam table, legs dangling.

“You okay, kiddo?” Colin asks, sliding next to Ian on the table.

“I'm nervous.” Ian admits with a trembling bottom lip.

“Hey, don't be nervous. The only person who will even touch you is Jess, the doctor is just going to talk and supervise. They both know the situation, so there's no need to feel embarrassed. I'll even hold your hand if you want me to.” Colin offers.

“You're gonna see some things.” Ian warns, looking down at the floor.

“Hey, little prince. Nothing on your body will ever make any of us love you any less. You're just as beautiful and adorable.” Colin assures him.

“I wish he didn't have to watch. I'm more than my body.” Ian whimpers.

“You're much more than your body, munchkin.” Colin assures him, tugging Ian’s head until it rests on Colin’s shoulder.

“Can you?” Ian asks.

“Can I what, sweetheart?” Colin asks, softly rubbing Ian’s back.

“Hold my hand when it's happening?” Ian asks slowly.

“I would be honored to hold you hand, monkey.” Colin tells him, picking up one of Ian’s pale hands from his lap and enclasping it in his own hand.

Colin rubs his thumb over Ian’s knuckles until Jess returns with Doctor Jennigs. He's an older man with a slight Romanian accent to him that makes Ian’s deep green eyes widen.

“Hi Ian, I'm Doctor Jennings, I'm going to be your doctor today. Can I shake your hand, it's okay to say no.” he assures Ian.

Ian shakes his head no.

“Perfectly fine, I don't like handshakes very much either, too many germs. Now, let's go over some basic vitals and statistics, then Jess here will examine you while I supervise. Does that sound okay with you, Ian?” Doctor Jennings asks.

“I guess.” Ian mumbles.

“At any time if you want her to stop something, us to stop discussing something, you want a break, or you feel overwhelmed. Just tell us and we’ll do what you want no questions asked.” Doctor Jennings assures him.

“Okay.” Ian agrees.

They take Ian’s height, weight, blood pressure, and temperature and Ian resumes sitting on the exam table while Colin stands in front of it with his arm in reach in case Ian wants it.

“He's going to get much taller.” Doctor Jennings assures him.

“Really?” Colin gapes.

“Yes, he hasn't even hit his proper growth spurt yet, but he’ll get there soon enough.” Doctor Jennigs assures.

“Right now he's barely Mickey’s height.” Colin chuckles.

“It's important that he eats his vegetables and drinks his milk. You have a lot of growing to do. Now, BP is healthy, temperature is perfect, and Ian, do you feel comfortable discussing your weight?” Doctor Jennings asks.

“No.” Ian says instantly.

“Perfectly fine, moving right along. Now, Jess is going to listen to your heart beat with a stethoscope. Is that okay? It's going to be cold at first, but it won't hurt or be uncomfortable at all.” Doctor Jennings promises.

“Yeah.” Ian agrees.

“I'm right here.” Colin assures him, holding out his hand. Ian takes his hand and looks like he's bracing himself to be hit. Ian loosens his robe a bit so that Jess can listen to his heartbeat without taking the robe off all the way.

“Cold!” Ian protests as the stethoscope hits Ian’s chest.

“Sorry, love.” Jess coos and tries again pressing the stethoscope over Ian’s ribs.

“Wait ah!” Ian squeaks as Jess starts to listen to his heart.

“What's wrong honey?” she asks, gently scratching the area of his ribs that the stethoscope was on to soothe the skin that she assumed was too cold with her nails.

“Your nails!” Ian giggles.

“Oh I get it, it's tickly.” Jess chuckles, “Can we try again?”

“Absolutely not.” Ian squeals, leaning forward and throwing his arms around Colin’s shoulders for protection. Colin’s face morphs from surprise to affection as Ian buries his head in Colin’s shoulders.

Jess shrugs, “It sounded good and his BP is strong, so it's fine.”

Doctor Jennings nods in confirmation. 

“So difficult you are.” Colin teases, rubbing Ian’s back as Ian took refuge in his shoulder. Colin felt important at that moment.

“He trusts you a lot.” Doctor Jennings comments.

“I'm glad he does.” Colin nods, “Alright, munchkinland, go get back out there.”

Jess checks his eyes and comments “so green and doe-like”, then checks the inside of his mouth and his throat.

Jess starts examining Ian for real by gently massaging his scalp and making him relaxed and comfortable.

Then she tells him to give her his hand, and she threads his fingers through her one hand, so when she presses on the glands on his neck, it's both his hand and hers doing the examining. That seems to work much better for Ian.

“Okay, I'm gonna have you take off your robe to about your stomach, okay? We’ll check you for scoliosis and check your stomach muscles. Then you can put your sweatshirt back on. Sound good?” Jess asks.

“Yeah, um.” Ian starts.

“Something wrong?” Jess asks.

“I have something on my back that you guys are going to have a question about.” Ian informs them.

“Okay, thank you for letting me know.” Jess nods, shooting Doctor Jennings a glance.

Ian removes his robe and looks uncomfortable when Jess palpitations on his abdomen. He's tense in a way that he wasn't mere minutes ago.

“Alright Ian, can you turn around for me?” Jess asks.

“Yeah, um, Colin can you um?” Ian starts.

“Yes little prince, you can hold my hand.” Colin nods, taking Ian’s hand instantly.

“Oh Ian!” Colin exclaims, his gaze faltering at the decent sized burn mark on his back in the shape of an “R”.

“I made sure nobody saw in the bath or when I got dressed because I didn't want to talk about it. They made us all wear makeup on in the club.” Ian says.

“It's healed over, there's not much you can do about the scarring, but I'll fill out a prescription for some cream anyways.” Doctor Jennings promises.

“Whose R?” Colin asks.

“Roderigo. In my first month there, there were nine dancers and Svetlana. Roderigo was nineteen and he had been with the club since he was sixteen years old. He ran away, and then they did that to all of us as a reminder. They made me go first because I was the youngest and everyone felt so protective over me. They reminded the other guys and Svet that if they left, we all would pay the consequences. It's an R because they wanted us to be reminded how this pain and suffering was his fault for ‘quitting’. And there was no way all nine of us could leave unnoticed, so we all made a pact to stay, or warn the others if we were going to leave.” Ian explains.

“I'm so sorry little prince.” Colin nods, rubbing Ian’s calf soothingly.

“It's okay, we were all glad he got out anyways.” Ian says.

Jess lets him put his sweatshirt back on, and Colin hops on the table to let Ian rest his head on Colin’s shoulder as they do the next part.

There's a horrible rash between Ian’s legs, scars on his thigh, and bite marks and red blemishes littering his thighs and hips.

There's a bruise in the shape of a hand right on Ian’s but that makes Iggy shiver and hold him closer. “You're doing so so so very good, munchkin. I'm making chicken noodle soup later, so we can go home, cook that, and watch whatever you want on the tv. Curl up with Mick, maybe?” Colin suggests to take his mind off of it.

"Write down evidence of SA in his chart." Jess mutters, carding her fingers through Ian's hair, thoroughly enjoying that she could hug him without worrying about the typical line of patient confidentiality.

“He's doing very well, with everything considered. Healthy, strong, and he seems to be content with you.” Doctor Jennings assesses.

“So you think that he will be alright?” Colin asks.

“I think he’ll be just fine.” Doctor Jennings promises, “I can already tell that he is very resilient. When is his appointment with a psychiatrist?” 

“Tomorrow afternoon, my younger brother is going with him for support.” Colin says.

“That's good, if you leave me the office contact number, I will contact the office to make sure that they prescribe him something for anxiety or the nightmares, that is only if he wants it.”

“Just ask her, and then Ian can see how he feels tomorrow with it.” Colin decides. “So that way you have both options, little prince.”

\-------------------------------------

Ian storms into the house, with confidence barely even stopping to say hello to Iggy or Mandy.

“How was the doctor?” Mandy asks.

“Later.” Ian responds, bursting into Mickey’s room and locking the door behind him. Mickey is sitting on the bed, clearly having showered after school. Wearing just sweatpants and having messy hair from his shower. Mickey texts idly on his phone as he lounges on the length of the bed.

“Hey Firecrotch, how was the doctors?” Mickey asks.

Ian responds by sinking to his knees in front of Mickey, eyes looking darker and pupils blown.

“Whatcha doin freckles- hey Ian what the fuck!” Mickey exclaims as Ian starts to work his pants off.

“What?” Ian asks robotically as Mickey towers over him.

“Ian, what are you doing!” Mickey exclaims again.

“Just making you feel good.” Ian states.

“Ian, you already make me feel good, you're clearly not ready for sex and I'm not using you for a blow job.” Mickey states, tangling his fingers in the red strands as Ian rests on his knees in front of Mickey.

“You don't want me?” Ian asks, eyes brimming with tears.

“No Ian it's not that-” Mickey starts.

“Is it because I'm used and broken?” Ian whimpers.

“No, angel, never that because you aren't used or broken. Jesus Christ it's not that.” Mickey stammers.

“Is it because I'm not good looking like the other dancers? I'm just tiny and all ugly freckles.” Ian says.

“No, E, I think you are the most beautiful person on Earth. Inside and out. There is not an inch of you that is anything less than breathtakingly stunning.” Mickey confesses. 

“So you just don't like me?” Ian nods sadly, tears dripping down his pale cheeks and intermixing with the splattering of freckles.

“No, Ian I couldn't like you anymore, it's because I like you that I want to wait until you are actually ready and don't feel like you have to do anything for me.” Mickey explains. 

“I just spent all day having my body looked at and judged and now all I want to do is make you feel good. I AM ready for that, please Mickey just let me do what I'm good at.” Ian begs.

“Ian, no. You're only doing this because you feel like you have to to regain control. Christ I want to say yes, but I can't- it's not fair to you.” Mickey says frimly.

Ian rests his head on Mickey’s knee and breaks down in sobs, “Not fair, it's not fair. If I was normal you'd want me.”

“Oh Ian, I wish I could brush the insecurities from your head the way that I brush your hair.” Mickey sighs, combing through the red hair with his fingers, “I want you so much. Why would I come back for you, huh? If I wasn't interested in all of you. There's a million warm mouths out there but Ian I was attracted to you. Your energy and your charm. I do want all of that stuff with you, but I want you to be in the right headspace and not feel obligated or like you're being used.”

“What are we?” Ian questions flat out.

“Huh?” Mickey asks.

“Are we a couple?” Ian demands.

“Of course we are.” Mickey assures him. Ian scrambles to his feet and onto Mickey’s lap, where he wraps his long and skinny legs around Mickey’s back. Pale arms wrap around Mickey’s shoulders, and Mickey feels his arms come up to hold Ian in place. Blue and green eyes mix like a lightsaber battle as Ian gets close enough that Mickey smells the mint gum on his breath and his long black eyelashes flutter against Mickey’s cheek.

“Then act like it. Act like you are into me more than just a rescue project. Just give me something.” Ian begs, his tears having subsided.

“Ian, I'd give you everything, I just want you to want it.” Mickey nods.

“I'm going to kiss you now.” Ian informs him.

“You'd better.” Mickey teases, but the teasing energy gives way as Ian’s lips crass against his and they melt into each other with warm kisses and lazy tongues. This was Ian’s first kiss point blank, and Mickey’s first kiss with a guy flat out.

“So boyfriends?” Ian confirms, snuggled up to Mickey as the two lay under the blanket after their makeout session.

“Boyfriends.” Mickey confirms.

DAY THREE- THE PSYCHIATRIST

Despite the breakthrough last night, Ian is still kind of standoffish when he wakes up. Usually when it's late at night or super early, he gets super warm, mushy, and cuddy as he fights to stay awake; but this morning he seemed on edge. It's like he knew what was coming.

He stays super near Mickey on the train, but he won't touch Mickey or go for holding hands. He gets as close as possible without actually touching Mickey. Liking the heat from his body.

“You nervous freckles?” Mickey asks.

“Not really.” Ian shrugs.

“Yes you are, and that's okay because you have me so that you are not nervous alone.” Mickey promises him.

The psychiatrist is nice enough for a clinic psychiatrist. She specializes in childhood trauma and she has many certificates on the wall that said so.

Ian doesn't talk much to the psychiatrist at first. He just sits on the old green couch with his knees cradled to his chest, looking at her warily.

Early on in the week, Ian had expressed not wanting to be asked to repeat the majority of his story and give Iggy permission to give her the cliffnotes so Ian didn't have to catch her up to speed.

So she asks Ian if it's okay that she asks Mickey some questions. Ian just nods.

“So Mickey, what is Ian to you?” she starts.

“He's my boyfriend.” Mickey says, taking a chance and gently brushing Ian’s cheek with his thumb before moving away, knowing how the contact seemed to overwhelm him right now. She writes down a note after that and Mickey panics, thinking that she thought he was hurting Ian or something.

“He's usually very cuddly and mushy, but today he's really soft and quiet.” Mickey explains.

“I see.” She nods.

“Sometimes certain textures overwhelm him a bit and make him jumpier than usual. Or certain sounds too. But he always likes the texture of his baby blanket, it's super soft and he can't sleep without it.” Mickey babbles, seeming nervous himself.

“ ‘M afraid of the dark too.” Ian mumbles.

“Hi Ian, is there anything that you would want to talk about?” she asks.

“Iggy wants me to talk about the burn on my back or my mom.” Ian mumbles.

“What do you wanna talk about?” she asks.

“My mom's dead and the burns just a burn. Not that much that I would want to talk about.” Ian sighs.

“What about Mickey and his siblings?’ she asks.

“Oh there super duper nice and welcoming. They do so much for me and expect nothing in return for once.” Ian says warmly.

“Do you think they're getting anything out of it though? Like friendship or love?” she asks.

“I guess so, yeah. Mandy calls me her best friend, and Iggy likes me keeping him company, and Colin likes having someone else around to help, and Mick, Mick said he likes me.” Ian says proudly.

“Oh yeah?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at the in that she had found.

“Yeah, Iggy made up all these games to play, and Mandy likes to draw with me, and Colin is weird but he's very loving, and Mick and I play games for sensory thingies and Mick let's me sleep with his phone on a night light app so I'm not scared.” Ian rambles on.

And the psychiatrist got him to discuss a little bit of his feelings by using the Milkovich siblings as an in. The fear, his triggers, his nightmares that even Mickey didn't know about.

“I'm glad that you are so happy living with them. Ian, I think that you are remarkably well-adjusted given the circumstances. I would like to ask if you would be open to coming back once a week, you can bring Mickey every week, and talk more about the things that you have experienced.. I think that it could be very beneficial for you. I would also like to prescribe you something for anxiety to help you a little bit. I think that it would be beneficial to officially diagnose you with anxiety and work on diagnosing you with PTSD.” she says.

“Like the army? I didn't even leave basic. I don't have PTSD.” Ian challenges, in confusion.

“Doesn't have to be a war in camo with tanks, sometimes all it takes is a war in your house or in your mind to have trauma. PTSD isn't trauma-specific to vets. Anyone can have it after experiencing trauma.” she explains.

“Oh.” he says quietly.

The psychiatrist gives them anti-anxiety medication for Ian in an orange tube and gives Mickey a list of things to watch for.

  
  


Ian and Mickey make an appointment for the same time next Friday, and then go get some ice cream. Mickey suggests that they make this their weekly date night after therapy. Get the hard stuff out of the way and get to the fun stuff.

Ian just shrugs because any stuff with Mickey was better than any stuff without Mickey.

When they get home, Iggy is fuming uncharacteristically loud and shouting at Mandy and Colin as he waves his hands in exasperation.

“What's wrong?” Mickey asks, Ian tensing by his side. They had both walked inside of the Milkovich house in a relatively good mood with their arms around each other as they walked from the El to the Milkovich house.

“Fucking Lip.” Iggy fumes.

“What?” Ian gapes.

“I ran into the fucker today!” Iggy seethes.

“What, what did he say?” Ian trembles.

“Apparently he heard that you were staying with me because fucking Mandy told her friends and he heard through the grape vine. Sought me out at work. He told me that he wishes me luck at having such an over-dramatic whore living under my roof. He said if I get tired of you not to pass me back to him. He fucking called you a whore, when he knew that you were at that club. He knew what they were doing to you and he just.” Iggy’s face crumples, “He just let it go. How do you do that to someone? You're such a good fucking person and you didn't deserve that from your best friend, him to just turn on you.”

“Iggy, it's okay. He's probably right, maybe I should go.” Ian says.

“Absolutely not!” Iggy exclaims, “We all want you here and we all love having you here. You're such a good kid. How did he just leave you there.” Iggy tapers off in sobs, covering his eyes.

“Shhhh, Iggy it's okay.” Iggy promises, moving to hug him. And soon all of the siblings joined in the hug with the consensus that Ian was not leaving.

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“We still have the same psychiatrist now, we go together, but it's really for both of us. She never judges us or tells us that we are overreacting.” Ian says.

“She did get a little judgy when we showed her the matching tattoos.” Mickey points out.

“She's an old lady, test to be expected.” Ian shrugs.

“Ian, she's fifty-nine.” Mickey snorts. “Okay next question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let em know what you though- any and all constructive criticism is always welcomed. Any suggestion will always be at least listened to and I read all comments. Any tropes or themes you want incorporated I will always at least consider. Thank you for the amount of support and love that you guys leave me- XO


	7. sweet f*cking sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/17/21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work but I felt like posting it, my keyboard is messed up so I apologize in advance for any spelling errors or grammar that my auto-check did not catch

Chapter 7- Sweet F*cking Sixteen

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“Do you guys still cuddle when you're arguing?” Ian reads off.

“We do still hug when we’re mad, but the goal for a long time was to get him to self-soothe a little bit and now that I will always be there to comfort him, but he can also comfort himself too.” Mickey explains.

“Do we plan on getting any more animals?” Ian reads off, “Well Ian says I'm all the puppy that he has time for. Maybe another fish if Minnie dies.”

“If?” Mickey scoffs, “That thing better die soon.”

“Shut up, you know you like Minnie too.” Ian informs him.

“No, I really don't.” Mickey chuckles. “What did Ian do in between his GED and getting rescued?”

“Well, in short, I started to show symptoms of Bipolar disorder a few months into living with Mickey and his siblings. However, I had just come off of being kidnapped and then was rescued and brought into a new house, so they had no gauge of normal for me. They just thought that I was coming out of my shell and trying to move past my trauma.” Ian explains as Mickey’s eyes darken.

“Was him working at the club a manic episode?” Mickey reads off as his face twists in disgust. “You know it might come off that way, but he was just a broke and desperate kid from the back of the yards trying to escape a bad household. He really did have two realistic choices; the army and going home. Burt he went AWOL from the army and didn't want to go home, so he became a bartender. He never intended his boss to sell him to Henry’s. Ian has Bipolar I with psychotic features, so at least in Ian’s case everyone is different even with the same features every brain experiences psychosis different, his manic episodes tend to be more I see aliens and would like to rent a penguin and move to Mexico then formulating a plan to better his life situation.” Mickey explains.

“We found out that I am Bipolar when I was sixteen. So after that I took some time to adjust to my meds and then started studying for the GED. Balancing an antipsychotic, an antidepressant, a mood stabilizer, and my anti-anxiety medication was a lot. As a sixteen-year-old victim of sex trafficking with a triple diagnosis of PTSD, Bipolar I, and Anxiety under my belt, it took my a hot minute to get my shit straightened out and the Milkoviches couldn't have been any more supportive and understanding. I worked as a cashier at a grocery store part time, and did a lot of chores at the house to fill my day. But I mainly focused on formulating a routine, and then I studied a lot and got my GED when I was seventeen-years-old.” Ian adds. “I hope that clears some things up.”

“It was difficult because Ian was hypersexual, but I wasn't having sex with him, and he had to balance out that hyper-sexuality with the feelings of guilt associated from the year he spent having to give his body away to people. Sex became a loaded gun, and that was the main reason that we really waited until he was eighteen-years-old to have sex.” Mickey says to the camera. “It was a difficult road for him to get there and the world really did keep knocking him down at every turn, but eventually Ian began to thrive.”

**Southside, Chicago, 2016:**

Algebra two is hard. It's even harder when you are taking it senior year because you put it off so long and the guidance counselor didn't happen to mention the vital piece of information that it was apparently a requirement for graduation at Mickey’s high school. But algebra two was hardest when you have a red-head sitting on your lap as he watches television and cuddles against you.

Mickey had brought over the wooden television table to do his homework on, and Ian had just plopped on his lap like always. Mostly Ian is distracted by the show, but sometimes he looks down and asks Mickey to explain basic concepts. Mickey had tried to teach Ian math, but Ian got increasingly frustrated on how he didn't remember any of the math he learned in his formative years.

It had been another week since Ian had come to stay with them, and Friday would mark two weeks since Ian and Mickey met. But today was Wednesday, and in order to get to Friday they would have to get through Thursday. Ian wished it went Wednesday and then Friday, so that he could skip the sour events of tomorrow.

The past week has been better. The routine was doing Ian good. Iggy fretted about him being a homebody, so in addition to his routine, he tried to squeeze in one trip a day. To the grocery store with Colin, the park with Mandy, the dugouts with Mickey to watch the stars, or sometimes Iggy would take him for a ride on the “L” just to get out of the house if it was a slow day. Ian began to take on more household chores to combat boredom and freetime, but the Milkovich siblings assured him that he was under no obligation to do anything but hang out.

“Hey dopey.” Mickey stars while scribbling “-i times sin = ?” on the margins of his paper. Mother fucking fake numbers. 

“Um hmm.” Ian nods, kicking his legs against the couch, or more accurately Ian’s shins, like a four year old would.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” Mickey asks.

“Why would I be?” Ian responds innocently.

“It's your sweet fucking sixteen bitch. Gotta get you a tiara, birthday boy.” Mickey teases.

Ian’s bitch face slips on, “How the hell did you know that?” Ian demands.

“Svetlana called me no less than six times to make sure I'd remember. I wanted to pretend to forget and then throw you a party, but Colin said that that would be cruel.” Mickey informs him.

“Aww, Colin knows too. He's gonna make it a thing.” Ian whines.

“Oh it's already a thing, and Svetlana is coming for the day.” Mickey assures him.

“I hate my birthday!” Ian whines.

“Why old man?” Mickey asks, “Remind you of the finite qualities of the cursed mortal coil? Got an allergy to candles?”

“No, my family always makes it a shit day.” Ian practically growls. Mickey takes to stroking his hair to settle him down a bit.

“Easy killer. Well, I'm gonna make tomorrow a great day for you. You can either smile and be a willing participant, or I can kidnap you and do it anyway.” Mickey shrugs.

“I've already been kidnapped Mick, it didn't work out so well for me the first time around. I'm not optimistic about a second.” Ian reminds him.

“Well, then be a willing participant.” Mickey suggests with a wiggle to his eyebrows.

“Nooooo, I just wanna ignore it.” Ian protests.

“Well, lifes tough, maybe you'll get a helmet for your birthday if you are lucky.” Mickey snickers.

\---------------------------------

“He's so adorable.” a voice coos.

“Looks like he's fourteen.” a voice grumbles.

“Look at all his freckles.” A voice coos, “And his eyelashes are longer than mine.”

“Innocent as fuck.” a snicker sounds.

“Yeah a downright ginger puppy.” and Ian can hear the eye roll in that one.

Ian cracks one eye open only to be met with a bright sunlight blinding him. Ian swipes a hand over his face and grumbles as he does a full body stretch.

“Morning, sleeping beauty!” Colin exclaims.

“What the fuck.” Ian grumbles as he's greeted by three Milkovich siblings sitting in front of him and one sibling cradling him close.

“Happy birthday!” Mandy exclaims.

“Birthday boy!” Mickey smiles and kisses the side of Ian’s head.

“Little prince is sixteen!” Colin exclaims.

“Happy birthday, Ian.” Iggy smiles.

“Guys, it's so early.” Ian whines, burying his face in Mickey’s shirt. In response, Mandy flings the blanket off of Ian and Ian is left shell-shocked.

“You're bullying me? On my birthday?” Ian gapes.

“Oh now the birthday card comes out!” Mickey snorts.

“Aww you sleep with socks on that's so cute!” Mandy coos, poking at Ian’s socked foot. Ian responds by kicking her deftly.

“Fuck off, I get really cold really easy.” Ian whines, attempting to snuggle his face into Mickey’s chest one last time after he pulls the covers back over his body.

“Yeah, like a soulless vampire ginger does.” Mickey adds. Mandy flings the cover to the floor and Ian whines.

“Alright, stop torturing the birthday boy.” Iggy says with an eye roll.

“Fineeeeee.” Mandy relents.

“Twenty-minutes till birthday pancakes, monkey!” Colin exclaims.

“Can I go back to sleep?” Ian asks pathetically.

“For nineteen minutes.” Mickey offers.

“Deal. Get out Mands.” Ian says, his tongue poking out of his mouth.

“If it wasn't your birthday, I would get you so bad right now.” Mandy tells him, growling playfully, making Ian cower a little closer to Mickey for protection.

“I got you red.” Mickey chuckles. “Everyone get out and let him sleep.”

Except Mickey knew Ian didn't actually want to go back to sleep. He just wanted to be soft and warm and lovey-dovey for a bit. And that was fine by Mickey.

Mickey holds Ian in his arms as they lay there for a few minutes; all giggly cuddles and gentle pets. Ian smiles, a crooked and lopsided dopey sleepy smile that makes his face look even happier than a symmetrical one.

Every time Mickey pulls away Ian goes, “It's my birthday, you're legally obligated to hold me.”

“Ian?” Mickey finally asks, feeling like he's warmed Ian up enough, “Do you wanna call your family, baby?”

Ian’s green eyes shift back and forth as he thinks it over, “I don't think they would answer.”

“You'll never know if you don't try.” Mickey tells him. “You can invite them all here for cake.”

So that's how Ian winds up laying horizontally on the bed, baby blanket in one hand, and Mickey’s phone in the other. Head resting on Mickey’s stomach as Mickey lazilly twirls strands of red hair between his fingers and traces soothing patterns on Ian’s biceps.

“Is this Fiona Gallagher’s number?” Ian asks.

“Depends who the fuck is asking.” a voice that Mickey has never heard before snips back.

“Fi.” Ian says, voice breaking.

“Holy fucking shit.” Fiona says over the phone, “Ian you piece of shit, I've been so worried about you. You haven't called in a year.” Fiona says with no bite at all.

“A lot of shit went down.” Ian says.

“Why now? What-” Fiona starts, flabbergasted.

“Fi, my birthdays today.” Ian says.

“Oh shit, it is. Happy seventeenth!” she exclaims.

“It's my sixteenth birthday.” Ian says dryly.

“Oh shit, sorry.” Fiona giggles.

“I'm having cake for my birthday. I'll text you the address and time, if any of you would like to come, come.” Ian says, voice sounding like a shrug, but forehead wrinkling with lines of worry.

“I'll be there.” Fiona promises, “Is this your number?”

“No, it's my boyfriend's number.” Ian responds, chewing his bottom lip.

“Okay, sweetface, happy birthday.” Fiona responds with a smile before hanging up.

“You think she's coming?” Mickey asks.

“Nope.” Ian says, popping the “p”. 

“Her loss. Let's go get you some pancakes, okay?” Mickey hums.

—————————————————

“You have syrup on your face. Napkin.” Iggy urges, shoving a napkin at Ian.

“ ‘M not a kid.” Ian whines.

“You are the exact definition of a kid, actually.” Iggy counters with a raise of his eyebrow that wasn't nearly as funny as when Mickey did it.

“I'll get it.” Mandy shouts when the door is knocked on.

“Who the fuck knocks on our door?” Colin asks, puzzled.

“Svetlana!” Mandy cheers.

Ian turns around, with wide and hopeful eyes to see his best friend barreling at him.

Ian stands up and meets her half way in the living room, “My orange boy!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck, “Taller already! Good thing I don't have to carry you up the stairs anymore, huh?”

“Svet.” Ian breathes, throwing his arms around her and squishing his face against her cheek, “How's Glen Cove?”

“Baby cries louder than you at night and he's not as easy to put to bed. Gotchu a present, orange wrapping paper for orange hair, eh.” Svetlana teases, placing the present on the couch in front of her.

“Wha’s his name?” Ian slurs.

“What is.” Svetlana corrects firmly.

Ian’s green eyes roll, “What is.” he emphasizes.

“My sister named him Yvegeny, after my father. But baby’s father,” Svetlana switches to Russian to avoid the audience hearing what she deems is more personal, “Days are numbered until my sister slips arsenic in his drink if you get it. Old perv can't even get through dinner. Half blind, gropes at us blindly so he's just groping air. He looks like the man from the Monopoly cover. But soon? I will live like a princess.”

Ian giggles at the Monopoly man comment.

“Ah no fair, speak fucking English. I wanna eavesdrop.” Mickey protests.

Svetlana eyes him warily, “Mike.”

“Mickey.” he corrects.

“Mikey, I will be asking my orange boy how you have been treating him. He is a shit liar. If I find out you've been using him I'll- she starts.

“Cut off my dick, yada yada. We get it.” Mickey finishes for her with an unimpressed look.

“Where's blanket, my love.” Svetlana says, uncharacteristically soft with her red-headed friend who seems to have melted, looking at Svetlana with these puppy eyes. “Hey, don't be sad. I wish you could be with me, but Monopoly Man is too creepy to be around you and my sister needs me to change diapers. Besides, you have a home here.”

“I know, I just miss you.” Ian admits softly.

“C'mon, come show me where you rest that big orange head of yours.” Svetlana teases, standing on her tippy toes to stroke Ian’s cheek with her fingertips lightly.

“My room is down the hall, last door on the left.” Ian tells her, leading her down the hallway.

Iggy elbows Mickey, “My room?”

“Shut up, he's settling in nicely.” Mickey responds.

“He really is.” Colin smiles.

“Not fair you get to cuddle with him every night.” Mandy comments.

“Mands, he has a nightmare like every night and every time he goes to you, you kick him out if he's not quiet.” Iggy points out.

“I do?” Mandy gapes in horror.

“You do, but you're half asleep and he doesn't care.” Iggy assures her.

  
  


\---------------------------------------

Mickey waits a good ten minutes before knocking on the door to his own room, “Can I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Ian calls.

Mickey opens the door to see Ian lying on his back talking to Svetlana while she laid next to him, stroking his hair and listening to him talk about whatever ginger’s chatter about while she mutters back in melodic Russian.

“You ready to go to the carnival?” Mickey asks.

“Carnival? Ian cosks his head in confusion.

“Yeah they have a street parking lot one. Just for a bit. Not much,but it's something to do at least.” Mickey says sheepishly, “Colin and Iggy don't wanna come with, so it'll be just you, Svet, Mandy, and I.”

Ian blinks back in response.

“We can do something else if you want.” Mickey says sheepishly.

“No, Mick.” Ian rushes, “That's perfect, I'm just surprised is all. Haven't been to one since Monica took me when I was like five and put me on the ferris wheel while she scored drugs.”

“Well, consider this a do-over. Gonna be cheesy as fuck, but I figure that's what you like.” Mickey smirks.

“Cheesey.” Svetlana chuckles.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Mickey Milkovich wasn't much of a photographer. But he saw how many selfies Svetlana snapped of her and Ian as Ian attempted to eat cotton candy in the sunlight. Naturally, he sparkles like a vampire in the sunlight, Mickey thinks.

As he watches Svetlana take picture after picture of the ginger, he feels an itching in his fingers. His camera roll had maybe twenty pictures on it at the absolute best. Some screenshots of assignments that he forgot to delete, important paperwork, maybe a black and white picture of a cigarette. No selfies, no pictures of his family. And no Ian on it. So sue him if he thought the way Ian laughed at a joke from Svetlana, across from Mickey at the top of the Ferris wheel, his hair seeming to have a halo around it, and his eyes sparkling with a smile. Sue him if he subtly snapped a picture or two of a moment worth keeping.

Ian and Mandy rode the Gravitron, while Mickey and Svetlana waited by the exit because there was no way in hell Mickey was going on that thing. The house of mirrors had already pushed him past his limit and he wanted to save his nerve in case Ian asked him to go on that huge ass tall slide where you sit on a potato sack.

So Mickey looks at the picture of Ian and smirks.

“Beautiful huh?” Svetlana says, lighting up a cigarette as she looks over Mickey’s shoulder with no regard for personal property or privacy.

“What?” Mickey startles.

“Orange boy, beautiful huh?” Svet smirks.

“Uh, yeah.” Mickey stammers.

“He's used to being told he's beautiful. Not used to feeling it. Keep him feeling this way and we won't have a problem. Needs reminder that he is such every now and again or he worries. I can see you like him a lot. He's a good boy, but he's haunted by something. Needs someone with a bigger heart than normal to match his. You have this heart for him, no?” Svetlana asks.

“Um, yes?” Mickey stammers, completely caught off guard. But he's saved by Ian and Mandy stumbling out dizzilly.

Ian does his best “drunk run” to Mickey and grabs his hand, “Let's go do the slide Mick.” Ian cheers, predictably.

“Firectrotch, this is a sixty-foot-tall slide in a Southside parking lot.” Mickey reminds him.

“Okay, sorry. Let's do something else.” Ian agrees too quickly.

“Hey, I never said no, I was gonna say, you better hold my hand on the way down.” Mickey says, “Race ya!”

It turns out they were too heavy to go on the same potato sack, so the operator let them go on the lanes next to each other, while Svetlana was in the heat after them, and Mandy opted to get pretzels instead.

“You ready?” Mickey smiles.

“You're going down.” Ian promises, cockilly.

“Eat my ass, freckles.” Mickey bites.

“Maybe I will.” Ian smirks. And Mickey is so caught off guard by that statement, that he misses the operators whistle and starts two seconds after Ian.

“Oh shit!” he hears Ian shriek as he goes up and down the bumps of the slide.

As intently as he can through the wind blowing in his face, Mickey scans Ian’s own face for signs of fear. But Ian seems to be laughing. Especially when he comes out in first place.

“Ha!” Ian brags as they wait for Svetlana.

“I started late due to the sun-glare off your reflectively pale skin.” Mickey snips.

“You were staring at me?” Ian asks, all puppy-dog eyes and adoration written across his face like a book.

Mickey thinks to Svetlana’s advice and leans forward a bit to catch Ian’s ear as Ian’s green eyes move up and down Svetlana goes up and down the slide, “How could I not? You're the most beautiful thing here.” he whispers in Ian’s ear.

Ian shivers at the wispy contact of Mickey’s breath in his ear, but a shy smile graces his lips nonetheless.

“Rode stupid slide, orange boy, what next?” Svetlana grumbles.

“Do we have any tickets left to play a game?” Ian asks.

“Yeah we do.” Mickey tells him, holding up what was left of the 5$ worth of carnival tickets each of them had bought. In a parking lot carnival, five dollars goes a long way.

“Let's go Mickey.” Ian practically skips.

“Hah, name like the cartoon mouse.” Svetlana snickers.

Mickey flowers, “Why'd ya have to go reminding him of that?”

Ian belly laughs, “Mickey mouse, Mickey mouse.” he taunts.

“You're dead, Gallagher.” Mickey says with an eyebrow raise as he chases Ian through the crowd.

They stop out of breath at a stall where it costs on a ticket for three tries at throwing a ball to knock over a stack of milk cans to win a fish.

Naturally, Ian wanted to play.

And naturally, Mickey handed him a ticket, silently crossing his fingers that the ginger didn't win.

Ian tried once, and it landed too far to the left. The ginger wrinkled his nose, seemingly confused.

“Ian, there's no way you'll win. Let's just go.” Mickey whines.

“Mick, have a little faith in me here.” Ian chuckles.

“No.” Mickey snips.

The second try knocks the top bottle off.

“Looks like I'm right, firecrot- ah fuck.” Mickey gapes as Ian’s third ball knocks over the milk bottler tower.

“Ha!” Ian squeals with joy as the carnival worker hands him a [white betta fish](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/301459768797038476/) with red and blue spots in a tiny enclosure. “I'm gonna name the fish Minnie Mouse, after a certain Mickey I know!” Ian proclaims proudly.

“How long will this thing live?” Mickey grumbles.

The carnival worker smirks, “Could be a while. Two to four years.”

“Mother fucker.” Mickey mutters.

\----------------------------------------

“And then we went on the spinning strawberry ride and then we got cotton candy.” Ian gushes to Iggy and Colin, now that they are back at the Milkovich house. Ian is dressed in a light grey crew neck and jeans as he stirs a bowl to help Colin, Jess, and Iggy make a cake.

“Uh-huh, and how'd you get a fish?” Iggy asks?

“Mickey told me I couldn't win a game, so I won out of spite. And I named it Minnie just to tease him.” Ian recounts proudly.

“Very Milkovich-like. Spite fish.” Colin snickers.

“Needs a bigger tank or it will die. And some food. A filter.” Jess rattles off. Ian looks petrified at that.

“We can go to Petco tomorrow and get a better home than the stupid cup and some food.” Iggy says ruffling his hair.

“Orange boy is a fish mom now, hah!” Svetlana laughs.

“Go hang out with your friend, little prince. We’ll finish up here.” Colin promises, leaning down to whisper tenderly in his ear.

“Okay.” Ian says, going without a fight.

He's sitting on the couch laughing with Mickey, Mandy, and Svetlana when someone knocks at the door.

“I'll get it, it's the pizza.” Mickey promises, hopping to the front door with ease.

He opens the door to Veronica Fisher and Fiona Gallagher. “We’re here for Ian.” Fiona says bitterly.

“Yeah, it's his birthday, he was really hoping you'd come.” Mickey stammers.

“Psh. So Ian, this is where you've been holed up for a year? The Milkoviches? While we starve at home and you work at a fancy bar.” Fiona sneers.

“Hi sweetface.” Vee waves timidly.

Mickey jogs back to Ian, who instantly cuddles into Mickey’s side with fear. “I don’t work at a bar.”

“Lip says you did.” Fiona shrugs placatingly.

“Lips an asshole.” Ian mutters.

“Yeah he kinda is. C’mere Ian.” Fiona opens her arms to him in invitation. Ian shrinks further into Mickey’s side.

“No thank you.” Ian chirps quietly.

“What? No hug?” Fiona gapes.

“No thank you.” Ian says again timidly.

Fiona crosses over to him and throws her arms around him anyway, but Iggy stops her instantly. “Hey, he said no.”

“I'm his sister, and I'm just hugging him.” Fiona sneers.

“Well it's his body and he doesn't want to be, sister or not. SO don't touch him.” Iggy sneers right back.

“Alright, alright, whatever.” Fiona throws her hands up.

“Gotchu a little somethin from all of us, Kev too.” Vee says, gently smoothing a hand over Ian’s knee and frowning when he flinches.

Iggy comes up behind Ian with his pillow and baby blanket and places both on Ian’s lap. “Just so you're comfy.” Iggy says, gently kneading at Ian’s shoulders from behind.

“Thank you.” Ian says softly.

“Still got your blanket.” Fiona smiles softly.

Ian nods slowly, his green eyes flickering back and forth.

“He can't sleep without it.” Mickey says, stroking Ian’s cheek lovingly as Ian buries his head in Mickey’s shoulder.

“Comfy?” Svetlana teases, “So huggy and cuddly.”

And all Fiona could think about is this Russian stranger thinks Ian’s cuddly and he was cuddled up to the dirtiest white boy in America, but Ian won't even give Fiona a hug.

“Wanna open some presents, angel?” Mickey hums, sifting a hand through Ian’s hair. Ian won't take his eyes off Fiona as he clutches his blanket to his chest, but Ian nods.

Svetlana got him a decent orange watch so he could, “always see the clock like the one of their wall.” Fiona looked confused at that, but Ian hugged Svetlana warmly in thanks.

Mandy got him a red teddy bear, because he is her teddy bear, some nail polish because she desperately wanted to paint Ian’s nails, and a mug that says Ian.

Jess and Colin got him some more clothes and a history book that he thought Ian would like.

Iggy got him a pack of “fidget type” sensory toys to use when he got anxious and a weighted blanket because he shivered and fidgeted so often at night.

Mickey cleared out half of his drawers and half of his closet for Ian, and got him a cheap burner-type flip phone for twenty bucks at the local Radio Shack, citing, just for now so you always have a way to get in contact with people.

Fiona got him socks and an army poster. Vee and Kev got him a nice beer mug from “The Alibi Room”.

Ian smiled graciously and thanked everyone profusely, but he didn't hug Fiona or Vee in thanks. Still seeming cautious about their appearance.

The cake, a chocolate one because a carrot cake was too hard to make.

And Fiona watches Ian sit there as the Milkoviches rub his back and ruffle her baby brother’s hair as he smiles and laughs for the pictures.

Fiona watches the brunette Russian take a picture with him, kissing his cheek in front of the cake, lit with candles.

Mickey and Ian take a picture together, smiling and hugging, and Fiona has never seen any of the boys this clean before. She hasn't really seen them since before Terry went to jail, but that's neither here nor there.

All four Milkoviches take a couple of group photos with him, like they are his family.

Mandy takes a picture with him as she squishes his cheeks.

Everyone takes a million pictures of Ian, but Vee and Fiona. And it burns Fiona’s insides. This was her boy. The one she raised, changed, and cared for. And he was treating her like he didn't even know her.

“Ian.” she asks, pulling him aside, “When are you gonna stop playing house and come back home?”

“I'm not.” Ian says simply.

“What do you mean you're not?” Fiona demands.

“Sweetheart, let's not.” Vee tries and fails.

“No, I'm not letting him shack up with trash like this!” Fiona snaps.

“Excuse me!” Colin barks.

But Ian’s tiny voice cuts everyone off, “Why didn't you help me Fi?”

“What?” she stammers.

“You saw Lip and Frank beat me within an inch of my life, citing that it was my fault for being born. You watched me beg Lip to love me, and you watched me sob when he pushed me away. You watched me walk out the door to join the army without a second word Fiona. DId I mean that little to you? You too Vee. Both of you watched it happen.” Ian acvuses.

“Ian, we were all drunk.” Fiona stammers.

“You always are drunk! But I never needed you until that moment, and you all just started at me and comforted Lip afterwards. Vee, you cleaned his knuckles before even looking at me!” Ian snaps.

“Honey, Lip was in a very vulnerable place.” Vee explains.

“So was I. No one ever picked up the damn phone and tried to call me, you just let me leave. At fifteen years old.” Ian explodes.

“Lip said he saw you working at a bar and you told him you didn't want anything to do with this family.” Fiona accuses.

“Do you even know where he was this past year?” Mickey sneers.

“No, I assumed he was working at the bar or the army. But now he's here what a shock!” Fiona glares.

“Fiona!” Ian sobs, “I lasted a month in the army and got bullied for being gay. I worked as a bartender for maybe a month before I was drugged and sold into human trafficking. Lip saw me working at a bachelor partyu for one of his gay friends. He knew I was a prostitute and he said that's what I deserve in life.” 

“Ian, I had no idea.” Fiona starts.

“I ALMOST DIED FIONA!” Ian loses it, “I WAS THIS CLOSE TO DYING HANDCUFFED TO A POLE IN A SEWAGE FILLED BASEMENT. I HAD GIVEN UP HOPE OF LIVING AND I ACCEPTED THE FACT THAT I WOULD DIE BECAUSE I WAS SO USED TO BEING USED EVERY NIGHT. TIED TO A RAILING AND BLINDFOLDED AS MEN HAD THEIR WAY WITH ME AND I WAS DRUGGED INTO SUBMISSION.” Ian takes a breath and calms down, “That brunette you keep sneering at, that's Svetlana. She was my roommate. She would hold me every night and clean up my injuries and protect me as best as she could. Every night she sang me a lullaby and hugged me until I fell asleep. Tucked me in with my blanket and kissed my forehead goodnight. I was so fucking close to dying at fifteen years old when Mickey showed up and rescued me.”

“Ian, I had no idea genuinely.” Fiona sobs.

“Where is everyone else Fiona?” Ian demands.

“Carl roped Chuckie into selling drugs, and now there both in jail since Sami ratted Carl out. Sammi moved out. Liam overdosed on Lip’s coke and he's recovering from a brain injury from oxygen deprivation, Debbie is class president, and Lip was accepted into college early.” Vee supplies.

“No I don't mean how are they, I mean where are they? No one else cared? Nice to know.” Ian spits.

“Ian, if I could go back and help you that night or beg you not to leave that morning, I would.” Fiona sobs.

“What about when you saw me sink to my knees in the middle of the hallway, all broken and bruised and begged to die. You told me to go to bed. When I walked in on Monica, when I found my mommy dead, you let Lip and Frank blame me.” Ian sobs back.

“Lip is an alcoholic, he's in AA.” Fiona tries, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Lip is an asshole.” Ian says flatly.

“He made mistakes Ian.” Fiona defends.

“Fuck you Fiona, I fucking hate you!” Ian is red-face sobbing as he storms into the kitchen.

“Ian just come back home!” Fiona yells.

“Hey!” Iggy whistles, “This might not be the fancy five star Gallagher house, but here? Ian is safe and loved. He's in bed at a decent hour every night, he's clean, he's cared for and fed, he doesn't have to worry about any of his needs being met or his dad bursting in. For the first damn time in his life he feels a sense of attachment, and you think you can ruin that base off what? Birthright? Go fuck yourself!”

“He has fucking stockholm syndrome here!” Fiona counters.

“Stockholm is if he stayed with his ex-boss Henry because he thought Henry loves him. Here, someone takes care of him every time he has a nightmare. He is loved, he is wanted, he is cared about, he's remembered, he's a part of our day not just a block on the schedule, and he is held close here. There's a difference.” Colin spits.

“Babe, calm down.” Jess soothes.

“And who is this random chick?” Fiona asks.

“Colin’s girlfriend, who got Ian into a pro-bono doctor that let him choose his own boundaries and me do the exams that Ian felt comfortable getting done. We've taken him to the dentist, doctor, and psychiatrist every week. All of his needs are being met here. WHat would happen at home, huh?” Jess snaps.

“Fuck you guys, happy sweet fucking sixteen, Ian.” FIona taunts before storming out.

“Should I apologize or leave, Imma just leave.” Vee dashes out.

“Fuck.” Iggy mutters, chasing after them.

“Fiona, wait.” he calls.

“What, come to bash me some more?” she bites, but no heat can be heard.

“No, I want you to have my number if you ever need to get in contact with him. You might be shitty to him, but he loves you.” Iggy says.

“Yeah, okay.” Fiona says, accepting the olive branch.

  
  


After the cake is put in the fridge, Svetlana is picked up, Ian’s presents are stored in his storage container, his pillow and blanket back at their rightful place on Mickey’s bed, and everyone having departed, Mickey finds himself winding down and getting undressed. Wanting nothing more than to watch some television in bed with Ian and enjoy some of his sleepy cuddles.

Ian stands in the corner, looking small and pensive as he stares at the wall like he's looking at a painting, but the wall is bare.

“Birthday blues?” Mickey teases, sitting back on the bed as he pulls his pajamas on. Waiting for Ian to do this routine in sync with him has become an automatic, so when Ian is still standing in the corner trembling, Mickey takes note for real.

“E? What's wrong?” Mickey asks. That breaks the floodgates and Ian’s large green eyes fill with tears as he chokes back a sob on the back of his hand.

“I have no family Mick.” Ian sobs brokenly, “They don't even care what happened to me. Nobody but you cared and you were a stranger when you cared. The people who knew me my whole life and were supposed to care turned their back on me. I have no family, Mick, they all hate me.

Mickey pauses for a second, “But you got me and I'm not so bad right?” Mickey asks, sitting back on the bed while Ian continues to tremble in the corner like he is a visitor in this room.

“I know what you want, hold on.” Mickey says, snuggling under the covers and opening up his arms in an invitation. Ian still looks shaky and weary of the entire situation.

“C'mon get over here, firecrotch.” Mickey practically hums. And Ian obeys, walking forward slowly at first, then practically diving into Mickey’s arms. 

“They hate me.” Ian sobs into Mickey’s chest.

“Mick.” Ian whines softly after a few seconds as he nuzzles his head into Mickey’s chest, “Can you rub my back, you do it the best. Please?”

“I got you, you know I do, angel. I gotcha.” Micke promises, rubbing Ian’s knobby spine up and down with the palm of his hands. Mickey slides Ian’s blanket from it's resting place on Ian’s pillow into Ian’s hand so Ian can run his thumbs over the texture for comfort.

“Play with my hair?” Ian pleads. And Mickey gladly obliges.

“What can I do, baby angel? How can I help?” Mickey asks softly.

“Jus’ wanna be held.” Ian mumbles through his sobs. Mickey smiles faintly, thinking of the first night Ian spent here, where Ian would shiver and flinch involuntarily when Mickey touched him without warning. Now he's begging for back strokes and head scratches. 

“Gladly.” Mickey smiles.

“You don't deserve any of this Ian. Not the way your family treats you. Not the way Henry treated you. Not the way that the guys at the club treated you. You deserved better than that. You deserve better.” Mickey soothes, twirling a strand of Ian’s red hair.

“You're a pretty crier.” Mickey tells Ian after a few minutes. Ian snorts.

“No I'm not. My face gets all red and blotchy and my voice gets all phlegmy.” Ian says with a thick throat to prove his point.

Mickey tilts Ian’s chin up so Ian has to look at him, “Your eyes get so pretty when you cry. It's like the tears are a magnifying glass. Your eyes become larger and much much more vividly green. It's like I'm looking at actual wet emeralds. And your eyelashes when they're wet and stuck together look like actual paint brushes. So beautiful.” Mickey assures him, humming softly.

“You're just saying that.” Ian decides as Mickey continues to hum in Ian’s ear.

“For what? Ian, in case you haven't noticed I'm cuddling you to my chest and humming you a lullaby so you can sleep better. Me, Mickey Milkovich. Maybe you didn't know me before, but you knew my last name right? Do you think any Milkovich would admit to cuddling and being this soft and gentle just for shits and giggles? No, birthday boy, I'm not just saying that.” Mickey promises him.

“You're the bestest Mick.” Ian yawns, seemingly satisfied as he brings a hand up to play with Mickey’s hair. Mickey is starting to get why Ian likes his hair played with so much, it is an intoxicatingly good feeling. But the best feeling is having Ian’s eyes concentrated solely on him as he focuses on sliding his freckled fingers through Mickey’s raven locks.

For once, the cuddling puts Mickey to sleep first, but not before, in his sleepy state he makes sure that he tells Ian, “Ian, you have a family and it's here.”

**Present-day- 2021, Southside, Chicago**

“But his sixteenth birthday was the last super good day for a while. Because the next week, Ian got spooked and ran away from home. When Ian got out of the hospital, he was quiet, and then his energy picked up. And that's where it all started.” Mickey tells the blinking camera inside of his and Ian’s sticker colored laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, I was kind of disappointed in this chapter TBH, but I am only one opinion
> 
> chapter 8- meeting the milkoviches- the reprise  
> chapter 9- the hospital  
> chapter 10- this is healing

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if anyone is interested in reading this. I have a pretty hectic work schedule but I think that I've proved with "The luck that they made" that I will finish a work eventually.
> 
> -orange alien  
> and  
> -Kev and V adopt the Gallagehrs are going to be prompt only after I finish the last two real chapters of "Kev and Vee"


End file.
